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LIB RARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF A3IERI€A. 



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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



/ 
JAMES A. WHITNEY, LL.D. 



IN TIVO VOLUMES. 
VOL. I. 




NEW YORK : 
N. TIBBALS & SONS. 

124 NASSAU ST. 
1886. 






Copyright, 18S4, 
Copyright, 1886, 

BY 

JAMES A. WHITNEY. 
All rights reserved. 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, 

AMAZIAH WHITNEY, 

WHO DIED THIRTY YEARS AGO. 

A MAN OF KINDLY HEART AND GENTLE WAYS, 

WHO, FROM YOUTH TO AGE, 

FEARED GOD AND KEPT HIS COMMANDMENTS, 

THIS VOLUME 

IS REVERENTLY INSCRIBED. 



CONTENTS. 



Shobab, a Tale of Bethesda, i 

Bar Enon, 146 

The Knight op^ Thessalone, iSo 

Cherry Valley, 211 



SHOBAB: . 

A TALK OK BKTHKSDA. 



I, Shobab, son of Shimei who wed 
The day the tidings unto Hebron came, 
That in tlie mouths of the high caves of^Seir 
The Hebrews laid dry fagots, and with fire 
Slaughtered the mountain robber in his den — ■ 
Tell this my tale, now that the years remote 
Seem near again, as seems the desert path 
Kenned from the height that marks the journey's 

end 
Through sunset's level light. 



BETHESDA. 



That winsome day 
Joy ran in rivulets within each heart, 
As wine flowed from the beakers to the lips 
Of all the village; while triumphant notes 
Swept from the harp's strained strings. The war- 
horse loosed 
Sprang with proud curvet in the pasture field, 
Hearing the distant cymbals' lordly clang 
And challenge of the shawm on free winds blown. 
That day was peace. The ox freed from the yoke 
In comfort all unwonted chewed the cud. 
White patient flocks along the wayside grazed 
The bitter herbs, contented; and the dove 
Beneath the eaves cooed loving notes and low. 
Upon the springing wheat the sunshine lay 
And o'er it swept the shadows of the clouds. 
The grass gave forth the murmur of the bee. 
From winding brooks came rustle of the reeds. 
And from beneath the reeds the monotone 
Of rippling waters. And anon, the shout 



BETHESDA. 3 

Came ringing far, of those rejoicing loud 

That from Seir's caverns nevermore should reach 

The ruffian hordes to spoil the quiet land. 

And with it mingled on the breezy air 

The rhythm of the songs that graced the feast, 

Of this the marriage afternoon, when all 

Was joyousness of triumph, and of love. 

The sun sank from the zenith and its ray 
Was followed by the dusk on gliding wings. 
The soft night followed dusk with gentle feet 
As maidens chase the brown moths m^id the ferns. 
Upon her head the stars came forth and shone; 
The cool breeze from the mountains swept her hair, 
For this the gray clouds seemed; and every breath, 
As from her lips, made murmuring soft and low. 
Yet on and on the cymbal and the lute 
And voices shrill and sweet together swam, 
Now high, now low. And everywhere the mead 
Poured slow and luscious; and the sparkling juice 



4 BE THE SB A. 

Of Hebron's trodden grapes made glad the hour; 

Until the coming of the morning star 

Beheld all slumber-vanquished; all save where 

A slender ray shone on the glistening cup 

Where the glad bridegroom pledged the smiling 

bride 
In one last draught ere tender sleep should come. 

Late the next morning to their tasks afield 

Went laborer and master; for the joy 

Was gone its way, and life began again 

Its old accustomed course. The day and night 

Came, blessing, each in turn. And seasons bore 

Each in its turn the burden of its time. 

So triple threefold months went calmly by: 
And joy unto that dwelling came again. 
Not clamorous as before but all subdued 
To soft low spoken words and tenderness; 
When to my lips they pressed the honey-comb 



BE THE SD A. 



And on them, drop by drop, laid spiced wine, 
Hushing my cry with gently jangled songs 
Breathed pleasant, low, and sweet. 

This have I told 
As long thereafter it was told to me. 
For I knew not the passing of the years, 
Until it happened that the women cried, 
And all the children silent gazed in awe 
The while, swart armed, the toilers from the field 
Bore to our door a Roman soldier, dead; 
A sickle's jagged thrust across his neck 
And his bright cuirass dabbled with his blood. 
Then hue and cry there was that quick my sire 
Should die the death. But Roman vengeance knew 
No slaking of its thirst; for he was gone 
Unto the farthest nations of the east 
And never more Judean hill or vale 
Or wife or child beheld. My mother told 
Me how the hireling cursed him. Him, who sprang 



BE THE SD A. 



From out the branch of Jesse. Him whose sires 

Had seen the glory of the Lord anear. 

The Roman smote him. Him, a Hebrew, born 

Heir to the glory of this ancient land, 

Son of its kings who ruled o'er all its plains 

Ere yet the distant marshes spawned the crew 

Whose sons on Judah laid their heavy yoke. 

On, through succeeding years that drowsy crept; 

With sorrow dull'd, and with duU'd labor cold, 

We two, alone, a humble shealing held, 

The mother and the child. The reapers knew 

Our loneliness and woe and careful laid, 

As if unheeding, little gavels down 

That we might find them as we gleaned the field. 

And here and there when olive branches gave 

Their last yield to the press, was fruitage still 

A willing guerdon to our anxious quest. 

And so we dwelt, the mother and the child, 

Seeing the springtide and the harvest come 



BE THE SD A. 



To Hebron's fertile fields and go away 
And come again. And I grew on, apace, 
Dreaming and wondering of the weary world. 

He who hath seen the cedars on the hills 
May call them to his eye when they are gone. 
Though of the meads that charmed him, nevermore, 
Of slender grass-blades kens he any one, 
So much alike were they and small to see. 
Thus, seven things, to me, of all those days 
Are clear as sight of cedars 'gainst the sky. 
Though all the rest be faded. 

I recall 
That by the wayside once a woman laid 
A brown hand on my head, for she was swart 
As the ripe olive's husk — a little child 
Clung to her garments, and with curious eyes 
Looked up into my face — to me she spake: 
Oh, child, but thou art fair to look upon. 



BETHESDA. 



And innocent thine eyes, and soft thy voice; 

Therefore, I would the marvels that I work 

May bless thee in the passing of thy days. 

That whom I love may blessed be through thee. 

Take then these seeds. Aye, in mine own far land 

The stately symmetry of Theban palms 

Have I beheld, when peace and rest were mine. 

And may they spring from out these kernels dark 

To wave o'er thee in peace ere yet ye die; 

So plant them when thy sorrow comes to thee. 

For they bear charm of many a prayer deep breathed, 

In olden rites the living Lord hath blest. 

And water them as to thy burning heart 

Ye would the coolness of great calm should come. 

The three brown seeds I clasped and she was gone. 

Once, in the dark, my mother crooned a song. 
And slowly on her knee, the while she sang 
She rocked me to and fro. Oh, Father, hear 
Thy loved ones of the earth and take them home. 



BE THE SD A, 



That they no more may know the Winter's cold 

Or weariness of Summer's wanton heat, 

The toiHng of the Springtime, or the wrath 

Of sullen Autumn's storms; or any more 

The touch of fear on night and morn and noon. 

There they may rest, and there, perchance, may 

sleep 
Withouten dream or any thought of toil, 
Of sorrow, or of pain. 'Twas then I asked: 
Where is this home ? 

And low she answered me. 
These bodies that we have are but the bud 
That holds the odor of the fruiting flower, 
And when it dies the perfume vanishes 
But does not die, but lives within the air. 
Our spirits pass into a world beyond 
Those distant hills, yea, far beyond the sky. 
And there they shall have rest forevermore; 
The peacefulness of all the flowers that lie 



BETHESDA. 



In Summer in the meadows; all the joy 

The bees in Springtime know amid the trees. 

And it shall be forever — for the just, 

The merciful and pure shall enter in; 

And we shall rest. Yea, we shall rest, she said. 

The while she spake, the crescent moon came forth, 

Casting faint shadows on the stubble ground. 

And shining on her face. Then was she still, 

Saying no more, though waiting patiently, 

I listened for her words till wonder grew 

And fear came on me at the peacefulness 

That spread upon her forehead. Long I watched 

Until afield the reapers came again 

In the glad morning sun. And she was dead. 

With scanty rites they laid her in the ground 

And heaped the earth above her, by the road 

The camel drivers traverse, leaving me, 

Unnoting that I lingered. Then I thought 

Of the dark woman's words; and of the seeds 



BETHESDA. 



Laid one upon the mold and pressed it deep 
With weak, tired fingers, weeping all the while 
That she was gone from me. Three times I brought 
From the cool spring and three times watered it. 
So, ere my task was done, the twilight came 
And night wherein I slept and half forgot, 
Then woke to weep again. 

Then mourning days 
And sad months measured their slow length along 
With gradual lessening of the grief they bore. 
Each day brought less of sorrow, for it dies 
Of its own languishing. And memory knows 
Surcease in labor, and in weariness, 
Till like an evanescent shadow seems 
The presence of our woe. So thro' slow lapse 
Came calmness and content, and I was fain — 
After forgetful years had come to me — 
To sing among the reapers: for I learned 



BETHESDA. 



With them to wield the sickle with a hand 
Grown deft and strong. 

Yet solitude to me 
Threw glamour o'er my heart. I sought the vales 
By rugged paths that led to meadows bright 
With flowery garniture and slender grass 
That gave its dusty blossoms to the air 
Ere tiny seeds were ripe. There came to me 
Each song the wild bird whistles in the dusk, 
Or carols at the dawn. I sought the glades 
Where feeble conies bide among the rocks. 
I marked the lichens on the boulder stones 
Rear little purple cups, and wondered oft 
Why sought they not the richer mold below. 
I loved the color of the wayside blooms 
Softened by evening's gray and tender light, 
And fragrant in the early falling dew. 

The torrents change their courses in the glens 
And firm rocks deeper groove beneath the storms, 



BE THE SB A. 13 



The tow'ring tree grows hoary with the years 

And time unmakes the contour of the fields. 

But ever breezes blow as in the time 

When all the earth was young; and fares the same 

Each little wild flower by the wayside grown. 

So, when on heart and brain are furrows found, 

Long wrought by tempests that are stilled and gone, 

Waft memories cool and fragrant as the touch 

Of zephyrs born of sunset, and the scent 

From springing trefoil in the herbage brown. 

So I recall from sunset haze remote, 

From scenes of summer blossoms, and the stress 

Of gently blowing winds on herb and tree, 

A little maiden's face; a child she was 

Of soft unconscious grace and tender ways. 

Yea, younger than myself, and innocence 

Shone in her eyes and her fair forehead crowned. 

And all things pure and stainless seemed to me 

To be her kindred in the earth and air. 



14 BETHESDA. 



I met her in the fields. We chased the bees, 
White-faced and droning, from the thistle tops. 
And wove, of golden daisies, slender chains 
Wherewith to coil her shoulders. Flame-winged moths 
And dotted butterflies to deck her hair 
We caught with nimble fingers and fleet steps. 
And hand in hand we heard the mavis sing 
His welcome to the night, when shadows deep 
Of hasting daylight wasted into dark. 

From this, our earliest greeting, came the course 
Of many eves succeeding. And the tale 
For each was like the other. In the fields 
The springing blade changed into slender spire; 
And swaying spire grew stately in the breeze 
With golden stem and gently nodding head. 
And from the springtide to the harvest time, 
Each twilight like the other in the joy 
Of love unsullied and of innocence. 



BETHESDA. 



The love of youth is gentle, and its touch 

Is like to that which once the prophet's staff 

Gave to the brackish springs of Jericho, 

Beside whose brink no tender herbage grew. 

Or palm bore fruitage, or fair wild bird sang. 

Till suddenly, beneath a holy hand, 

The bitter waters changed, and clear and sweet 

Flowed o'er the barren sands till they were clad 

With waving growth of green, wherein the buds 

Drooped lowly and unkenned; wherein the blooms 

Sprang bright and glorious from the hidden buds; 

Wherein the slender shafts of tufted trees 

Rose skyward from the flowers; and grateful shade 

Was where the aridness of dearth had been. 

So in my heart grew gentleness and trust 

And fervor for well doing all my days. 

Until it seemed, could I but see the ark 

Within our Lord's great temple, and behold 

The seven stems that waxen candles bear, 

That they may light the altar, I would hail 



BE Til BSD A. 



For her and me a life new born and fair, 

To reach out through the years in peacefuhiess. 

So when the harvest ended; now, I said, 

I will go thither to Jerusalem, 

Shall see its marvels and return to thee, 

To tell them all unbidden. 

So I went 
And all the wonders saw. But they are hid 
liehind the memories of nearer years. 
All, saving this, a narrow pool that lay 
Beneath high dusky arches where the shade 
Was cool while yet the lurid sun was high. 
A pool around whose edges threads of green 
Lay tangled in loose skeins of slimy drift; 
Above whose lazy ripples spiders swung 
Aloft on tiny ropes of gossamer 
That shone and vanished and then shone again. 
While on the sullen waters pillars threw 
Broad bars of shadow. Quick my questioning 



BETH.ESDA. ij 



Was answered by a beggar at its edge. 

Why comest thou, the hale, the young, the strong, 

And in mid afternoon. The stricken comes 

At early daybreak when an angel stirs 

To sudden frenzy all the waters calm. 

And he who touches first the fleeting foam 

Is healed of all his trouble. Go thy way, 

This place is not for thee. 

Chilled as with fear 
I quick departed. But my fancy drew 
Within my brain the picture of a form ^ 
Benign of countenance, and stately clad 
In stainless linen that unto his feet 
Swept down in folds majestic, while his hand 
A sceptre held wherewith to move the pool 
To merciful unrest when earliest ray 
Of morning sunlight glinted on its breast. 
This day-dream dreamed I on my homeward way, 
For now three days were vanished and my heart 



i8 li/rn/r.snA. 

Said liasto \o llcbi\>n, l\>r she waits thcc there 
\\ith wclronio on \\cv t.nw The sunshine loll 
Aiul LuU\l in the j^Kxiinin^', ami the nu"n"»n 
The transient twilight lolUnved with no break 
Or interhule o\ dark. In silver li^lu 
Was silenee as iff sadness everywhere. 

Twixt niidnii^ht and the dawn, uyion my emieh, 

1 siHi^ht lor sleep in vain. l-'or sorrow seenunl 

To lie upon the air, a ha/y wi^e 

That hail no objeet yet was ever near. 

\\ hen weary 1 arose, 1, nnsnrpriseil. 

In !.i roups saw all the neighbors speak in o low 

Anioui^ themselves, as it" in wrath and fear. 



And when 1 asked, they answered, knows't thou not 
The widow's daughter, yea, the little maid 
That met thee in the ludds, is slain and all 
Her blood is minified with the ashen earth. 
A Roman eharioteer drove idly by 



BETIIESDA. 



19 



And seeing her sweet beauty, called to her; 

Whereat she fled. Then his fierce anger rose 

And wheeling the strong steeds he rode her down 

Until her little limbs beneath the hoofs 

Were crushed like willow wands; until the wheels 

Across her breast went crackling as the flail 

Breaks the low sheaf upon the threshing floor. 

And we have laid her by thy mother's grave 

Heaping the earth above her, but her blood 

Is crying from the wayside dust ye trod 

But yestereven. Then the Roman's name 

They spake in whispers, but they threatened naught. 

For he was great and in his iron hand 

Lay life and death for them. 

The grave new-mad 
I sought and in the sunshine smiting down, 
Of the dark seeds the dusky woman gave 
I planted now another. Many times 
From the deep spring I bore the water jar 



BETHESDA. 



And poured upon it that its blade might rise 

In after days to mark the burial place. 

Then, wearied with the lapse of sleepless hours 

And the long journey and my anxious toil, 

I sought the shelter of a dwarfed oak 

And sank to troubled sleep. Within my sleep 

As if through mists unfolded, came the sight 

Of level meadows, low and interspaced 

With winding still lagoons. And here and there 

Upon the trodden fields war horses writhed 

Pierced by hard driven arrows. All around 

The dead men lay with armor on their breasts. 

And nearest of them all, with helmet doffed, 

With broken scimetar in his right hand, 

Lay my proud father's form, his sable beard 

Strown damp upon his corselet. Then the mists 

Were inward rolled again and I awoke. 

Awoke and said: The dim and slender trust 

I had that I might see him ere he died 

Is gone. And all I loved are gone from me. 



BETHESDA. 



Then ere the moisture from the grave was dried 

That I had watered ere my sleep began, 

I digged beside it till the mellowed earth 

Was ready for my purpose. Here I laid 

The last of the three seeds the woman gave, 

And watered it anon, and came away. 

In Hebron dwelt a man, Ben Aiden called. 

And he was hale though threescore years he bore. 

Though silver threads were heavy in his hair 

His eye was kindly and his manner free. 

He scoffed at Pharisee, and no Essene ^ 

Dared measure words with him. For he was learned 

In lore of all the Rabbis, and he knew 

The pagan scrolls that came from distant lands, 

That great Jehovah left in outer dark. 

And far Ben Aiden's name was known. His flocks 

Grazed many a hillside and his herdsmen raised 

Their woolen tents on many a pasture plain. 

I sought the village when my task was done 



BETHESDA. 



Beside the double graves. A high dispute 
Had risen in the crowd. 

By insult stung 
A laborer rose and cursed a Sadducee, 
Ben Aiden's neighbor. When thy bones are dust, 
He said, Thy spirit in the dark shall lie 
Vexed by infernal fire. Thy deeds shall rise 
On thy seared sight. For senses thou shalt have 
To suffer, though thy flesh be passed away 
In noisome odors and to clay more foul. 
And thine own scorn shall mock thee, and thy pride 
Shall be a dungeon for thee evermore; 
While we, the toilers, from thy iron hand 
Released, shall bask in everlasting peace. 
Aye! Go thy way, he said, beneath thy blows, 
Weakened by hunger and by grief distraught, 
Because of thy fierce anger I shall go, 
And thou wilt bide awhile when I am gone. 



BETHESDA. 23 



Yet we will meet again. I wait for thee. 

Yea. At God's Judgment Day, I wait for thee. 

With trembling lips and arm flung high he turned 
And disappeared. Then loud Ben Aiden laughed; 
'I'he beggar, quoth he, sings the ancient song 
And through his nostrils makes the old complaint. 
Then noting how the list'ners shrank to hear 
The fearsome words the angered man had said 
He took a softer tone. 

The dream is fond 
But futile as the idle wind that blows 
And wastes itself afar. Not Abraham, 
Or Isaac, or yet Jacob told the myth; 
For they were wise. But when our fathers bowed 
Beneath the willows of far Babylon, 
Eating the bitter bread of banishment. 
They from their fellow-slaves within the land 
Learned thus to dream. And when they came again 



24 BE THE SB A. 



To this their heritage they knew no more 
The simple truth the olden prophet taught, 
He shall come up no more, who goeth down 
Into the silent tomb. But life is sweet 
To him who rails not like yon wrathsome wretch, 
But loves it day by day and feedeth it 
With tribute of the senses in their time. 
Ye know that I, Ben Aiden, am no fool. 
And ken that I am rich. Ye know, my son 
Is favored by King Herod in his pomp. 
*Mong all of Israel's daughters, who more fair 
Than she who calls me father. In my face 
Ye see of health abounding. And mine arm 
Is strong at threescore. Who more blest than I 
Within our Hebron's borders? More than this, 
A few days hence I seek Jerusalem 
That I may higher rise: my voice be heard 
In Councils of the King. Yet through my years 
I've scorned this thought of judgment and of life 
Beyond the burial place. Yea, spat upon 



BETHESDA. 25 



The very altar stones; yea, since my youth, 

Full forty years agone, defied the God 

Ye call Jehovah. And I prosper still. 

And ye, my neighbors, love me for my ways, 

My bluff plain speech, my gifts of wine and oil 

In days of famine. 

With his arms outspread, 
And sparkling eye and pleasant boastful voice 
He charmed the crowd. And I among the rest 
Admired his mien of valor. Then my gaze 
He caught with jovial glance. Aye, lad, he said, 
Why wilt thou mourn when mourning ever fails; 
Or lean on broken reeds of foolish faith. 
Ye know the fields where, called of Chalcedon, 
The drooping lilies blossom and their scent 
Is heavy on the air. They rise, they bloom. 
They fade and wither and, anon, are gone. 
And others in their places come anew. 
Cans't thou the perfume of the yester year . 



26 BE THE SD A. 

Gather again for petals dropped and dead. 
When this thou doest, bring the spirit fond 
Back to the eyes that once were bright to thee. 

Heartsick, I faltered. Seeing me aghast, 
For he was kindly in his boist'rous heart, 
I meant no harm, he said, but know the truth 
And face the stormy day that soon may turn 
To warmth of fav'ring sunshine. Come with me. 
I am thy friend and will thee counsel give 
As I myself have followed. All is vain 
That prates of life beyond this pleasant earth; 
And vainer still the prattle that doth say 
Thou shalt deny the pleasure of thy days. 
Thy labor lighten with deep draughts of wine. 
And in thy rest be joyous with the sound 
The straken timbrel gives. For we shall die 
And all be ended then. Again he laughed, 
With his broad hand laid gently on my head. 
Yet seeing me despondent, spake again. 



BETHESDA. 27 



Aye, merry be, but yet if wrath do come 

Smite hard thy foeman that his fear may be 

A tribute to thy strength in hearts of men, 

And thou be glorified. An eye for eye, 

Yea, tooth for tooth require. So Moses writ. 

And blood for blood. So I, Ben Aiden, add. 

He was so strong his hand a shelter seemed. 

His words were wisdom to me for I knew 

Men called him wise and great; and being kind 

In word and tone, he seemed a friend to me. 

So when he said, come with me, I will make 

Thine heart rejoice within the hour, I went; 

And with him joined the feast where wine was 

flown 
In crystal beakers, and where viands spread 
As I had never known; where dancing girls, 
In silken raiment, from far Egypt brought, 
Wrought sensuous grace of movement in our sight. 
Anear the midnight when the nutty fumes 
With stupor overcome me, for a jest 



28 BE THE SD A 

They bore me to the vineyard. In the press 
They laid me on the pomace. At the dawn, 
With laughter loud they sought me and their mirth 
Was praise to me. They said that like a man 
I grasped the goblet filled with mellow wine. 
But yestermorn beneath the temple roof 
I saw the holy ark, and seven branched 
The golden candlestick shed lambent light 
Upon the altar. And my fervent heart 
Was awed and hallowed. Now, an hundred years 
Seemed passed since then. 

As in an archer's hand 
A bow may break and so be thrown away, 
My faith of yesterday was failed and gone 
Into the common wrack of useless things 
Forgotten and forlorn. No more I cared 
To mark the varied glory of the skies 
Or hues within the wild flowers dainty breast. 
The bird-note carolled from the coppiced glens, 



BE THE SD A. 29 



Or kraken from the grain, was idle sound 

Waking no chord responsive. In the wheat 

I saw the thin spires dwindle 'mid the tares 

And said, each liveth for itself alone, 

The greater strength doth conquer. From the hills 

I saw the eagle from his high nest drift 

On steady sloping wings and from the fold 

Snatch the weak lamb and lordly soar again. 

Whereon I said. The innocent shall die 

And strength shall conquer still. 

So triple years 
Deepened in me the change, and I grew strong; 
Foremost in labor — yet the first to hear 
The jangle of the cymbal when the day 
Gave way to mirth of even. More than all: 
The readiest to meet the wrestler's skill, 
Or share in festivals the rivalry 
With warrior's shaft and blade. I loved the smiles 
Of bonny brown-eyed maids. From horn or cup 



30 BETHESDA. 



Or hollowed gourd I drank the brimming wme 

In joy or weariness, in rest or toil. 

And morn and noon and night each guerdon gave 

To my full senses and my bounding heart. 

For morn had freshness of the dawn and brought 

Brave thoughts of triumph in the daily toil. 

And noon of languid rest within the shade 

With free songs sung and careless stories told. 

And eve the pleasaunce of dark eyes that shone 

With light reflected from mine ardent gaze; 

And voices breathing music to the sound 

Of tinkling instruments that gave us mirth 

In steady measure of the graceful dance. 

'Twas long ago. Strong-armed and fleet of limb, 
I climbed the beetling cliffs, and, falcon-eyed, 
Beheld afar the rugged waters flow 
In glittering foam through gorges of the hills. 
And where the fountains shone beneath the moon 
I wooed the maidens from the village strayed. 



BE THE SD A. ' 31 



Oft in the golden vintage drank the must, 

Joyous that life was sweet and strength was mine. 

Often I hurled the slender javelin 

As never Roman threw it. And the shaft 

Of Parthian archer never from the bow 

Clove the air farther than mine arrows flew. 

I joyed in strength as strong men know of joy, 

As earth rejoices in the glow of sun. 

Or cedars rise exultant in the storm. 

Yea, strong I was. And oft the Roman's name 
Was coupled in my heart with wrathfuPthought 
Of all his evil deed. I waited long 
To hear that he to Hebron came again, 
Or drove his chariot on the lonely roads 
Among the winding vales. At last he came. 
And passed me scornful as I wrought my task 
Alone within the field. The steeds were strong; 
But I was mightier, and with heavy grasp 
I flung them on their haunches. Quick he sprang, 



32 BETHESDA. 



Short sword in hand. But with deft wrist I turned 
The blade aside. My hand upon his throat, 
A crimson flood from out his nostrils swept. 
I dashed him down upon the rocks that lay 
Below the wayside ledge, and he was still. 
In distant lanes the furious horses reeled, 
Dragging the chariot's broken shaft between: 
And far through all the country went the tale 
How his wild coursers slew him. 

In my joy 
I drank anew the fervor of the vine, 
Welcomed the dalliance of the maidens fond, 
And bore a secret triumph in my heart. 

Aye, that was long ago. There came a morn 
When, from the wassail of the vintage night, 
I went afield and through the darkness passed 
With reckless shout and song; and lo! mine arm 
Was like a spear shaft broken or a blade 



BETH BSD A. 33 



Wherefrom the hilt hath dropt. And all my strength 

Was vanished into fear until the dawn 

And light and warmth came to me, and I rose 

With wondering sadness; and bethought me how 

The pool was troubled, and that healing came 

To those who sought its waters at the morn. 

Then all my haughty spirit rose again 

As I pressed forward, though my wither'd arm 

Hung helpless as I strode. 

The herbage swayed 
Beside my rapid steps until the dew ' 

Fell glistening on my feet. The air was still, 
Yet seemed a breeze before me, in my face 
Blown silently and cool. Anon, I saw 
The sombre arches and the gleaming pool 
And waiting people there. 

A crippled youth. 
With sinews scorched by fire what time a roof 



34 BETHESDA. 



Fell flaming on his bed, was in my way, 
And I with lusty shoulder threw him by. 
A widow, old and palsied, moaning crept 
Across my path; and I, with sturdy laugh, 
Stepped over and across. And by the brink 
A blind man sat, with wavering hands out-thrust 
To feel when first the waters should be stirred; 
And afhis cry I saw a ripple drift 
Across the pool, and sprang beyond him far 
Until the healing wave surged on my breast. 
Whole I departed, and with buoyant step 
I sought anew the fountain and the vine. 

For life was sweet, and strength was joy to me. 
And rapid moons went by and earth was fair; 
I saw the white flowers of the olive fall 
As winds swept by them: and beheld the grapes 
Turn dusk and golden on the sunny slopes. 
I watched the shadows sleep beneath the oaks 
That crowned the hills; and the low hyssop grow 



BE THE SD A. 35 



Along the curb around the well where shone 
The stars reflected in the summer eve; 
And where the maidens came, and castanets 
Made joyous music for our wanton feet. 

Anon, the must was trodden in the vats, 
The first ripe olives fell, the thistle raised 
Its head above the grain. And once again 
The vintage days were come. 

Aye, long ago 
It was that from the dance, with wine o'erwrought 
Once more I went afield ere yet the dawn 
Touched the tall date tree with its purple ray, 
And wandered where the brambles, wet with dew, 
Clogged my weak feet. 

In dreamless sleep I lay 
Until the high sun smote me, and I sought 
To go my way. But like a bow unstrung 



36 BE THE SD A. 



Were all my limbs: and sudden, wond'ring fear 

Made my heart faint. Nor did I move nor rise 

Or more than cry along the vacant path 

Till travelers, for plenteous gift of gold, 

On stout arms bore me as I bid them haste 

Far to the pool whose blessed waters heal 

Who first shall touch them as they troubled flow. 

There, by the porches five, a little while 

They laid me down. The crippled youth forebore 

To pass beyond. The widow, old and wan. 

Spread her scant raiment on my naked feet, 

And he who, blinded, held his trembling palms 

To feel the waters quiver, stepped aside, 

With patient air as more than sight had laid 

On him a charge of pity. Yet, I laughed 

As strong arms bore me o'er their heads and laid 

Me down amid the waters as they surged 

And o'er me swelled with healing in their touch. 



BETHESDA. 37 



So. Whole I rose, and whole I went away. 
I careless trod the path that led afar 
To famed Engedi's vineyards. Yet the air 
Seemed sultrier than before; the way more steep; 
The wild birds' song more distant; and the leaf 
That from the olive drooped had duller grown. 
Upon my tongue the wine found meaner zest, 
And the pomegranites juice was cool no more. 
The resonant timbrel that a wayward girl 
Struck with free fingers as she glanced aside 
Had undertone of sadness; and the laugh 
That kindled her dark eyes was vain to me. 
I lay a while beneath a zaccum branch, 
And saw the hot noon waver 'gainst the sky 
Till sleep came o'er me; and the lambent stars 
Looked down ere I from restless dreams awoke 
To dreamy wakefulness and discontent. 

I thought. In Hebron have my years been passed. 
And there their days monotonous and slow 



38 BETHESDA. 



Pass on from eve to eve. I would the change 

Of unknown faces and new pleasures came 

To rouse my listless senses. I have heard 

That far Engedi hath a fount more broad, 

With cooler waters, and upon the wall 

The hyssop greener clings. That her ripe grapes 

Grow larger clusters, and her wine more bright 

Flows than from Hebron's presses. That her maids 

Their rounded arms fling wide w^ith grace more free, 

And softer sing the canticles of love. 

In fair Engedi found I welcome warm, 

For they had heard of Shobab bold and blythe, 

And glad were they that I had come to them. 

There day by day the vintage passed away, 

And day by day the seed time slow returned, 

When flowers new budded bloomed. And day by 

day 
The green grapes turned to purple. Day by day 
Soft lute and viol lured me to the fount 



BE THE SB A. 39 



When fell the dusk, and pleasant voices spoke 
Sweet words of welcome — and the wine was old 
And sparkled from the goat skin as it poured. 
I craved a draught more potent than the press 
Yields from its pomace to the vintner's tread. 
Aye. It was long ago. 

There came an eve: — 
The upper vat was heaped high with grapes, 
While that below with wine o'er ran its rim. 
They said: Let us rejoice and drink the must, 
And drink the old wine, too, for life is sweet. 
Then let the tabor and the timbrel sound; 
For joyousness is life. And let us dance. 
Aye. Man and maiden dance. Soft night is here 
And who hath seen to-morrow. And the morn 
Our wassail saw ere yet it touched the east. 
But when the last star withered from the sky, 
Each gaily homeward turned. One down the vale, 
Another o'er the hill crest, and beyond 



40 



BETHESDA. 



The winding stream another. Here and yon 
Each one departed gaily while the song, 
And tinkle of the timbrel, answered back 
One to another till a silence came; 
And I alone remained beside the well 
Where crept the hyssop on the curb and where 
The gourd half filled beside the wine skin lay. 
Alone I stood, and all the air was pale 
And dulled the glamour of the rosy dawn. 
I stooped and from the gourd I drank again 
And sang a husky song. Aye, life is sweet 
With love and wine and joyaunce of the lute, 
I sang, and sang again, till on my brain 
There fell a cloud, and all my limbs were like 
The aspen's leaves that shiver in the noon 
When no breeze stirs the bough. 

The morning air 
Was full of golden motes that sank and swam 
Before my dizzy sight. A veil of mist 



BETHESDA. 41 



Fell gray upon mine eyes, then sudden dark. 
Unto mine ear, like murmuring of bees. 
Slow droning sounds from out the silence came. 
Prone to the earth I fell, nor anymore 
Did sound or sight come to me 'till I woke 
From out a dreamless torpor when the dew 
Lay sweet and heavy on the mountain grass. 
And the white moonlight shone upon a palm 
That feathery shadows threw along the way. 
I was athirst, and from the herbage lapt 
The dripping dew. Ahungered, I beheld 
Ripe dates drop, one by one, from out tlie palm 
A dozen: and from one to one I crept 
And gathered greedily. 

Then, with bowed head. 
With drooping shoulders, and with limbs that shook 
As shake the aspen leaves when storms are nigh, 
I travailled t'ward the city. Aye. The pool, 
The pool, I cried, whose turbid waters quake 



42 BE THE SD A. 



In healing turbulence. The trailing moon 
Sank in its radiance from the azure deep. 
The cold night wind grew colder and the light 
Of the clear stars changed slowly into dawn 
Ere I beheld the city, yet afar 
Ten thousand cubits. All the eastern sky 
Grew crimson and then faded into blue — 
The while the sunshine deepened. Piteously 
I kept upon my way. The noon was past 
And sultriness was slumbering in the vales 
Ere low by Kedron's bank I lay my head. 
Nor farther wrought for wretchedness and woe, 
Or uttered any cry for very pain 
And weary hopelessness. 

Here while I lay 
I heard the voice of wailing drawing near 
And saw along the valley slowly wend, 
To where the children of the people lie, 
With dubious step a tattered cavalcade. 



BE THE SB A. 43 



And as they neared I saw Ben Aiden's son 

With wine-flushed face reel where the mourners led, 

I heard their voices speak Ben Aiden's name; 

And there Ben Aiden's daughter raised her eyes 

With sensual glance nor even grief could slake 

Of all its coarse alluring. Deeper fell 

My heart in loneliness and misery, 

For I had known him in the lusty days 

Of all my earliest youth, and I had thought 

He would befriend me in Jerusalem. 

Then merciful a deep forgetful sleep ' 
Weighed softly on mine eyes. The ardent sun 
Crept through my limbs, a little comforting; 
And blown from Olivet came scent of flowers, 
The rustle of high branches and the song 
Of birds rejoicing in the peaceful day. 
A pleasant dream came to me: rhythmic words 
By maidens sung beneath the summer sky: 
And jangle of clear cymbals. And I woke 



44 BE THE SD A. 



To the sweet voice of women, on the air 
Breathed ga}^ and dulcet; and the clang of arms 
Like cymbals jangling or like castanets 
By wild free fingers struck. 

Behold! The King, 
The mighty Herod with a train of spears 
And shields and glitt'ring corselets. Mid the throng 
Of clanging horsemen came the silken dames 
In carven chariots riding. On it swept, 
Nor would have noted, had a restless steed 
Not broken suddenly and sprang aside 
And reared and sprang again. A lazar here! 
A captain cried, and vengeful swung aloft 
His blade as if to smite me; but the king 
Saw mark for bitter jest. He bade them bear 
Me o'er the brook and to the porches five. 
Perchance, he said, the wave may make him clean; 
Then at the miracle shall wonder rise; 
Aye, we shall marvel much. 



BE THE SD A. 45 



His myrmidons 
The while the throng passed onward bore me up 
And carried me within the city gates, and then, 
Their master out of sight, beside a wall 
Flung me down rudely and with scoff and jibe. 
Left me alone. Then drowsily anew 
I felt the creeping heat. I dreamed of feasts 
And of cool draughts of water and of wine 
Crushed from new ripened clusters, and anon 
I restless woke. Ahungered and athirst 
My moan I made and no man hearkened me. 
Slow, cubit after cubit, through the night 
I crept the city streets. 

Before the dawn, 
Among the earliest who trod the way, 
I reached the pool, and with my hollowed hand 
Lifted its turbid waters to my lips, 
And as one famished, drank; the while a wound 
That in my arm a jagged stone had made 



46 BETHESDA. 



Upon its edge dropped blood. Then from her 

robe — 
Yea, scant and thin it was — the widow tore 
A bandage narrow, and the hurt she bound 
With tremulous fingers and with pitying words 
In aged quaver spoken. He whose limbs 
Were scored and seamed by fire gazed curiously, 
Deep in my hungry eyes, and from his breast — 
His only bread for all the livelong day — 
Drew forth of carob pods and gave to me. 

The slanting sun shone on the pavement stones, 
A green branch waved across the arch where clear 
The blue sky met the eye. A spider's thread 
Its venomed burden swayed beside the wall; 
And clear a linnet's song swam high above 
The clamor of the street. For now the tread 
Of hurrying crowds grew loud. The bubbles rose 
And broke upon the pool. A sullen wave 
Rolled from its centre to its verge, and then 



BETHESDA. 47 



Above us, sandaled or unshod, the feet 
Of all the rabble passed. Flung far aside, 
And trampled on, we lay — the weak — while all 
Those lesser maimed and ill sprang rudely on. 
One, with some little ailment, touched the wave 
And buoyant and rejoicing went his way. 
Then each departed, some with murm'ring words, 
Some hopeful of the morrow. All save we 
To whom a home and archway were the same; 
For us the sun was something in the morn, 
The shade a guerdon in the noon, and eve 
When all the stones grew cold, alone of all 
The hours would drive us forth with willingness. 

So day by day nor any change was wrought, 

Or any kind vicissitude of woe. 

Each morn the waters stirred, each morn the strong 

Received its blessedness, each morn the weak 

Fell helpless 'neath their strength; and so, at last 

We sought, devoid of hope, though seeking still. 



48 BE THE SB A. 



'Twas long ago — yea, very many years 
Since first I brake the carob by the pool, 
And one year like another, save a change, 
Impalpable and slow, of which we recked 
Or cared nor jot or tittle. We who found 
Companionship that morn, a common bond 
Of suffering made and waiting, each for each. 
Gave greeting when we met. For yet alone 
Hath no man stood, nor any burden borne 
Unaided by his fellows. In the dawn 
Ere yet the sun arose the blind man reached 
His hand to feel the waters. In the dawn 
The widow's eye grew keen to watch the pool; 
And in the dawn the crippled youth crept near 
Its edge to be the first, and I, again 
Expectant, but unhoping, watched the drift 
Of stray leaves on its surface. Then the crush 
And struggle of a moment and the sound 
Of fast receding feet; while slow and calm 
The waters sank anew to placidness. 



BETHESDA. 49 



And drowsy from the tumult silence came. 
Then we, upon the scanty alms that fell 
To us from careless givers, broke our fast; 

We watched on all the things that came and went 

Within our little sphere. The swallow's flight 

Or high or low, foretold the sun or storm. 

The beetle creeping from the creviced stones 

Was herald of the dilatory Spring 

And scant or heavy harvest, while the fly. 

As late or early, forecast for the hills 

The yield of spotted melons. And the mouse 

As he was sleek or gaunt, the promise gave 

Of olive laden boughs or barren branch. 

Yea, when the wind veered from the chilly east 

We counted that men's hearts would kindlier be 

Upon the morrow. When from out the west 

The wind blew fair and steadfast, well we knew 

That from the seacoast marts the millet cakes 



50 BETHESDA. 



Would cheapened come. And when from the far 

south 
It slowly blew and steady, sure, we said 
The dancing girls will seek the porches five 
And we shall hear the cymbals and the song. 
Whene'er the vapor on the gray cold walls 
Gathered in drops and slowly trickled down. 
The plague, we said, will devastate the land. 
And prayed for each who in the morning gave 
To us our daily pittance. When afar 
The thin clouds sailed across the azure skies, 
And leaves turned sidelong as the wind went by. 
Behold, we said, the thunder and the rain 
Shall stay the pestilence, and we shall hear 
The chanting of the priests in thanks to God. 

Aye, more than this, we watched the black ants 

climb 
By devious pathways to the coping stone 
That crowned the arch, and heavy laden bring 



BE THE SD A. 51 



The gummy residue from leaves that swept 
Against the outer pillars, lo, we said, 
How gain doth come from patience. Oft we saw 
The driving swallows in their reckless flight 
Dash headlong 'gainst the wall and, fallen low, 
Lie motionless as dead, 'til breath of breeze 
And blessedness of sun slow brought them back 
To joyous flight again. Then comforting 
Ourselves with gentle thoughts, 'tis thus, we 

cried. 
The Father's hand shall lift us into peace 
And healthfulness of days. When, oftentimes, 
The outland camels choked the narrow streets 
Until the rich man's litter could not pass. 
Nor Levite keep the path; and when the steed. 
Caparisoned for war, raised hoof in vain: 
The Gibeonite with water jar on head 
Thridded between, and singing went his way. 
So shall we pass, we whispered, when the great 
Are staved and humbled. 



52 



BETHESDA. 



Yea, more than this. 
From out the legends of a billowy past, 
Where truth shone for a moment and was gone, 
We gained quaint stories that would comfort us. 
As of one, leprous stained, who painful drew 
From plains beyond the Jordan, and while night 
Still mantled all the earth, lay down and slept 
A weary sleep beside the blessed pool: 
Yet dreaming, when the sunlight smote his face 
With its first beam; gave vigorous stroke and fell, 
Ere yet the strongest sprang, and in the wave 
Left all his leper's whiteness and was clean. 
And of one, cunning, who in distant woods 
A curious fabric made of springing branch 
And intertwining leaf, and hid therein, 
Close by the marge, so that the pilgrims thought 
A bunch of wild acacias lay anear 
The edges of the water, 'til he flung 
Himself abroad when first the ripples stirred, 
And reached them earliest and himself was healed. 



BETHESDA. 53 



Nor lacked we laughter, sad and slender mirth 
Was ours in many a languid afternoon 
When olden jests retold gave hollow cheer: 
Or for an hour a new freak pleasaunce gave, 
Thus, where pomegranate skins were flung beside 
The portals of the arches, came the flies 
In darkening clusters, and the crippled youth 
Would deftly catch them and with pride would show 
The buzzing captives; and sometimes a bee, 
White faced and droning in its drowsy flight. 
Would fearless clasp. And so it happed, one day, 
An alien wasp by favoring winds far blown. 
Drifted within the gates; with agile hand 
He grasped it as it sped and quick was stung, 
Whereat we laughed, full long; and many a day 
The jest made light the languor of the hours. 

There came ofttimes, a fair and pleasant youth 
Who studied with the priests, that he might speak 
Some day in the Sanhedrim. He was kind 



54 BETHESDA. 



And told us stories of the ages gone 
Unwritten in the scrolls. And so one day 
With mimic manner, as himself were king 
Or seer, or beggar, he the story told 
How evil Ashmedai, the Amulet 
Stole from King Solomon, so he was cast 
Into deep sorrow and to Kedesh came 
Low wailing in his w^oe. 

'Twas thus the lad 
With varying accent told the legend old: 

I, Solomon, the wand'rer, I was King 
Over all Israel, in Jerusalem. 
Yet now I crave your alms, a beggar's dole 
Will blunt my hunger and my need assuage. 

Yea, I was Solomon, of Israel King, 
And through these streets with horses silver-shod 
Rode on in triumph while my chariot wheels 
In golden splendor the high sun outshone. 



BETHESDA. 55 



Now I am girt with straw, and on my breast 

A tent cloth's fragment shields me from the blast. 



So give me alms. 



Yea, Solomon the Great, 
Men called me in those days. My sceptre swayed 
From Euphrates to Tyre. My stately ships 
Were favored of the skies; and Ophir knew 
Their white sails swimming on the distant seas. 
My bowmen and my spearmen in array 
Were mightier than Egypt's mighty hosts 
And owned me lord and ruler. Now, the husks 
From desert branches are sweet food to me. 
Gathered with trembling hands by barren ways. 
So give me alms. For it was writ of old 
The poor and yet the stranger shalt thou aid 
As this our Israel was from bondage brought. 

I had the love of women. From afar 

Sheba's fond Queen came to my strong embrace. 



56 BE THE SD A. 



And who were fairest of the varied lands 

Were wilHng conquest of my ardent heart. 

Love songs I sung, and softly kindled eyes 

Replied in silence. Now, great Solomon 

Wanders unknown. Beyond the eastern gate 

One with bronz'd forehead mocked me. Give me alms 

For I am faint with travail and with pain: 

My eyes are dim and the rough way is dark, 

And Solomon would rest a little while 

Ere the new day new trouble brings to him. 

I owned the charm that demons feared, and knew 
The secrets of the genii in their guile. 
And innocent craft of fairies and of elves 
That haunt the forest dells. Now, demons scoff 
At my lost amulet. The genii mock. 
And elf and fairy when my feet draw near 
Hide in the woodland hollows. I am changed. 
Yea, Solomon is changed and all is gone 
Save want and woe and bitter barren years 



BETHESDA. 57 



That crave thy pity and thy scanty alms, 
For Solomon is weary. He is weak; 
And patient in his asking, for he knows 
The poor speak often ere they find reply. 

Of God's own Temple the high walls I built, 

Nor sound of hammer fell upon the air, 

While stone on stone uprose. The Lord our God 

Gave me of wisdom for all holy things, 

And knowledge of his work in earth and air 

From Lebanon's high cedar to the herb 

That sways neglected on the toppling wall: 

And vision clear for judgment. Now, my thought 

Heeds but the present hour, and dole that comes 

From hearts grown pitiful to see my woe: 

For Solomon is broken and his state 

Is vanished into rags. Yea, give me alms. 

Me, who was Ruler in Jerusalem, 

And Seer. And priest before the holy Lord. 

I, Solomon, the Preacher. I was King 



58 BETHESDA. 



Over all Israel. Yet my hunger sore 
Craves pittance from thee, and I fain would find 
Some little shelter from the winds that blow^ 
Through the chill shadows of the creeping night. 

I through the cities of this realm have passed, 

A stranger 'mid my people, and no door 

Swung on its hinges for the king unthroned. 

And in the narrow lanes where beggars hide 

I found each had his place but none for me. 

Amid the graves beyond the outer walls 

I sought where I might shelter. But the dogs, 

According to their strength, each knew the bound 

And limit where he slept, where none might come. 

In autumn fields the little fieldmouse sought 

His home beneath the stones. The swallow's wing 

Swept confident to where below the eaves 

His clay-built dwelling hung. The eagle's flight 

Grew smooth and sloping when from upper sky 

He saw his wild nest resting on the crags. 



BETHESDA. 59 



And I their comfort envied as I walked 
Crying with tears: Oh, Israel, I was King 
When from Araunah's floor the temple rose, 
And David's son ruled in Jerusalem, 
Until at last, with sorrow overborne 
I ask thine alms. 

Then quoth a fisherman: 
Lo! I am poor. No spreading net is mine 
As wealthy fishers use. On sturdy feet 
I tread the long leagues to far Galilee 
Whose waters, like the bounty of the Lord, 
Are free to all who come. A slender line 
Braided from nettles in waste places grown 
Suffices for my need. Within the deep 
The fishes come and go; nor do I ken 
Or whence or whither. Scant unto my hand 
Each day these many years enough has come 
To find me food and raiment. Share with me 
The solitary bream mine hook hath caught: 



6o BETHESDA. 



And share my fire the while the outer dark 
Shall grow forgotten though the chill winds blow: 
And with me share my shelter 'til the morn 
Shall warmth of sunshine bring to us again. 

They sat, the twain, and watched the embers glow^ 

Within a narrow brazier, and the cloud 

Of vapor rise the while the food prepared. 

And the King's eye grew brighter as he gazed, 

His nostrils dilate as the odor rose 

From the quick seething flesh. Anon, they ate; 

As brothers friendly, though their converse brief. 

And when 'twas finished; we are satisfied, 

Spake they together, though it all be gone 

Save yonder entrails thrown beside the knife 

That scored them from their place. But while they 

spake 
From out the heap revolting shone a light 
Misty and dim and wavering and strange, 



BE THE SD A. 6i 



As if a gleam of gold and gems were mixt 
And overlaid with sulphur's sapphire flame. 

Then with a cry, as one o'erwrought with joy, 

Sprang Solomon and grasped with trembling hand 

The amulet and on his finger placed 

Its graven coil. Then through his raiment rude 

Shone all of Kingly manner and of grace: 

And power was on his forehead. In his limbs 

The strength of youth was sudden manifest, 

But in his eyes was tearful tenderness, 

And his red lips were tremulous as are 

A mother's words when murm'ring of the dead. 

And when the fisherman would kneel to him, 
He said, not so, my brother. Go with me 
When comes the morning. Let us seek the hill 
Whence we may Hermon see, and Libanus, 
Carmel and Tabor and Esdraelon, 
And Galilee's fair valley and her sea 



62 BETHESDA. 



Wherein thy Hne was dropt. And tread its shore 
Where Sons of God shall travail when my name 
Is but a legend in the hearts of men. 

They slept. And when the morning came, he spake: 

I, Solomon, The Wand'rer, I am King, 

Over all Israel, and Jerusalem 

Is mine own city. Yet mine heart is sad. 

For wiser now than when my wisdom waked 

The wonder of the nations, I am fain 

That all were finished. 

Mine own heart hath known 
The weariness and burden of the poor. 
And earthliness of sin that bows the weak 
Ere they can rise to cry upon the Lord. 
The sore temptation; and the bitter fruit 
Which follows evil sowing. Yea. The thought 
That God is far away and will not hear. 
And the deep brooding, that the Lord is just, 



BETHESDA. 63 



That we are evil, and his wrath will come 

Until his broken law be all avenged. 

Not mine the strength or mine the light to know 

Wherefore shall mercy come. My spirit faints, 

For all is vanity that I have done : 

Yet seer am I : — 

And now my soul doth ken 
Of what shall be in Ages vast and dim. 
And One shall come, more wise than Solomon, 
Purer than Moses, stronger than the sire 
Of our proud race. And Him the Lord^shall own. 
And in Him kindreds of the earth be blest. 
Wherein I, Solomon, the weak, am bent. 
He shall arise in triumph. Then the poor 
By Him shall pass to joy and blessedness. 

Then forth they went, the twain, the level sun 
Threw thin, long shadows slanting on the path, 
Upon the hill where now is Nazareth. 



64 BE THE SD A. 



They sought the strand and idle at their feet 
The waters lapped with murmurs soft and low, 
And the King's face was peace. A placid light 
Lay in his eyes ; a look as one who turns 
From arid pathways into meadows cool, 
Or who from battle coming, sees the roof 
Of his own dwelling in the restful vale. 
His beard the sweet wind wafted, and his hair 
From silver threads threw back the mellow sun. 
And on his white hand shone the amulet 
A wav'ring drop of gentle sapphire flame. 

He said : My brother. Thou wast kind to me 
When I was hungered. When I sought for rest 
Thy couch gave me the blessedness of sleep. 
And I am King and Seer ; and spirits own 
My power on earth and sea. So, nevermore 
In Galilee thy line be vainly cast. 
And never shall thy brazier fail of fire : 
Nor ever storm assail thee, till ye die 



BETHESDA. 



65 



Of many gathered years and kindly age. 

The fisher heard and cast his Hne abroad, 

But scarce the sinker fell beneath the wave 

Ere the cord tightened. Thrice he drew to land 

The finny spoil until it seemed too great 

For his strong arms to bear. Then reverently 

Obedient to a sign, departed thence. 

But in a little while he turned and there 
Beheld the Kingly form, upon its head 
The calm fair sunlight lay ; the fingers drew 
Forth from its place the lambent amulet, 
And flung it far a gleaming arc in air 
That fell and vanished in the midmost sea. 
And calm and silent with slow waving beard, 
With sunlight on his forehead and his hair, 
The King stood on the shore. The fisher saw 
And awe was in his heart : and wondering 
He turned and went his way. And not again 
In this our land was seen great Solomon. 



66 BETHESDA. 



He ceased the tale, half bashful and half pleased 
To hear our praises of his mien and speech. 
But with his kind good eve the story failed 
And faded from our thought. Nor did I dream 
I should remember in the after time. 

Sometimes a stranger gave us passing cheer. 
Once, wandering from the coast a sailor came, 
Reckless in word but with a kindly heart, 
And gladdened us with alms and willing speech, 
For well he liked a list'ner, and we loved 
To hear his tales of wondrous lands remote 
From all our warriors knew or sages told. 

Once, so he said, beyond where Roman spears 
Outshone the glimmer of the Northern seas, 
He climbed a mountain on whose naked crest 
The sunlight lay when deep the midnight brought 
Its darkness to the silent lands below. 
Yea, there, he said, he saw the sun descend 



BE THE SD A, 67 



Aslant and crimson and then rise again, 
Yet never sink beneath the distant edge 
Of the far driven sea ; and so its course 
Kept onward with no twihght and no night, 
But ever living radiance on the sky, 
And light unbroken on the mountain top. 
Then, ever eager to explain her thought, 
The aged woman spake. Above the vales 
Wherein we dwell the peace of God doth lie 
As on the northern summit dwells the sun. 
There fear is gone, as on the distant height 
The darkness hath no place. Yea, we may climb 
From out these lowly shadows into light. 

The sailor, hearing, wondered, and gave voice 
To long, low, doubting whistle and away 
Went with a mocking laugh, forsaking us 
As all too simple for his courtesy. 



68 BE THE SB A. 



We heard the daily gossip, that which ran 

From lip to lip among the folk, and we 

Were glad to join therein, because it gave 

Us lot and share with human kind around 

And made us one with them: we heard and told, 

Of who was wed and who was borne beyond 

The city gates for burial ; and who 

Had come into the world ; and who was old 

And wise, or foolish, and whose wealth was gone. 

Or poverty was done ; who from afar 

Had home returned, or who departed thence. 

Sometimes its sluggish current faster moved 

At some strange thing new told. 

One early morn. 
Yea, it was long ago, but not more clear 
Is yesterday within my vision drawn, 
Where comes the road from Bethlehem we saw 
A wayworn woman hasten to the mart 
Where sheep are sold, beyond the healing pool, 



BETHESDA. 69 



And in her arms an infant. Quick she drew, 
With trembling fingers and averted gaze, 
The coarse, dry herbage from the mangers full 
Wherein she wrapped the child, and hiding it, 
Sped t'ward the ford of Kedron. Soon we heard 
A murmur of shrill voices in the air. 
And sobbing near at hand. The Edomite, 
They cried, hath slain the innocents and now 
Is Rama mourning for her little ones, 
Aye, thrice accursed shall cruel Herod be. 

And once we heard how from the Eastern lands 
A lambent star, new risen, passed athwart 
The calm, blue sky, and wise men followed it. 
Yea, Kings were they and bore of precious gifts. 
Until it paused above a humble roof 
Beneath whose shelter oxen chewed the cud 
And sheep contented lay. And more they told. 
Some doubting much and some of fervent faith. 
How in the manger was a new-born child, 



70 BETHESDA. 



Foretold of old a conqueror, and whom 
A virgin nursed in purity undimmed 
By any guile or stain, and at whose feet 
With low obeisance the gifts were laid. 

And later still they said this self-same babe 
Borne into far-off Egypt safely dweltj 
Awaiting that His time of power should come 
When he should rule — a King. The story told, 
We pondered for an hour and then forgot, 
Seeking new wonder in some newer tale. 

But chiefest of the pleasaunce that we knew 
That dotted here and there the dismal days 
With scattered shards of light — the tales oft told 
Of how our people in the olden years 
Were God's best chosen. How from Egypt's dark 
And crushing bondage all the tribes rose up 
With steadfast tread, and sought the purple sea 
Whose waters rose beside them, like a wall. 



BETHESDA. 71 



That they might walk dry shod. How smoke and 

flame 
Did guide them through the wilderness, and how 
The manna fell in darkness of the night 
When they were hungered. How beyond the hills 
This land allured them, promised of old time. 
Where rain from Heaven on the thirsty earth 
Should bring forth bread without the touch of foot 
To trickling rivulet. How Solomon 
These naked streets had clothed with shining gold. 
How he had talked with demons and had known 
The inmost secrets of the rocks and woods: 
And over mighty kings held heavy sway. 
How he from Joktan's deserts charmed the queen 
That ruled in Sheba. How his daring ships 
Of carven shittim wood from seas remote 
Brought back of gems, and birds of colors rare. 
How, earlier, a shepherd lad had gone 
To seek his sheep and found a crown instead. 
How, earlier still, when Israel owned the yoke, 



72 BETHESDA. 



A woman drove a tent-pin through the brain 

Of the accursed invader. How our sires 

Mourned 'neath the willows by the still lagoons 

That notched Euphrates' banks. How Esther came 

Mantled in beauty to the conqueror, 

That by the sword her people yet might live, 

Though sorely smitten. How Holofernes 

By Judith pure as snow was smote and slain. 

And all the people said Amen, and she 

Was honored of our God. 

And while we talked 
Of these the women of old days, the crone 
Her shaking hands held steadier and a light, 
Like glint of burnished steel, was in her eyes 
The while she crooned. It was a woman's arm 
That saved our people in the evil days. 
Aye, Israel's maidens are not they who know 
Alone fair smiles, and softly woven words 
Sweet spoken in the dusk. And more we told 



BETHESDA. 73 



Of many marvels in the ancient days 
And told them yet again. 

But most of all 
We conned the mystery that Jacob spake 
Concerning Judah, that around his hearth 
Our race should gather until Shiloh come. 
And who, we questioned, shall this Shiloh be, 
So long foretold and weary waited for? 
The Roman spears are bright along our streets, 
And Roman eagles from the standards look 
Upon us from our hills. When Shiloh comes, 
Shall Judah rise once more ; shall Zion share 
Her splendor once again? So queried oft 
Our desultory talk when fervently 
Each gave interpretation to the tale. 
Aye, quoth the greybeard: — 

Judah yet shall know 
Her garners filled with harvests and her vales 



74 BE THE SD A. 



Ablown with flowers new born. Her ships shall sail 

To seas untraversed, as in ancient days, 

And all her marts be filled, nor any tread 

Of alien warrior in her land be heard. 

Not Lebanon with his cedars shall be strong, 

Or Sharon with her roses be more fair 

Than this our land ; for Shiloh sure shall be 

Like unto David, and like Solomon 

In all save guile. 

Then answered quick the youth. 
Behold, when Shiloh comes, the cymbals' clang 
Shall clamor loud from Jordan to the sea. 
And all the pastures shall be swept for steeds. 
The smiths shall swing the hammers at the forge. 
From dawn to dark, that spearheads may be made 
To arm the serried hosts. The chariot wheels 
Shall grind the pavements of Jerusalem 
Rolled outward to the gates. The bronzed birds 
That crown the Roman standards, flown afar 



BETHESDA. 75 



Shall dread our trumpet's blast. Like Joshua, 
But sevenfold more than he, shall Shiloh come. 

Then softly said the widow, when He comes — 

Foretold by prophets, shall a gentle calm 

As of a Sabbath morning fall on all. 

And wrath shall die and peace be everywhere. 

The smiths shall labor, but their cheerful toil 

Shall make of ploughshares and of sickles keen 

And hooks to till the vines. The trumpet's blast 

Shall echo o'er the vales but it shall call 

The people to the feasts. The cymbal's sound 

Shall have but gladness and the voice of joy. 

Yea, in that day the lions from the hills. 

The wild men dwelling in the caves, shall come 

And seeking peaceful shelter shall lie down 

Unharming and unharmed within our walls. 

And none shall be ahungered, for the just 

Shall say that all God's creatures shall be fed. 

And none shall be afraid, for merciful 

Shall all men's hearts be found when Shiloh comes. 



76 BETHESDA. 

And I, in reverie, upon the pool 
Saw dead leaves dance and shadows come and go. 
Once with a step sedate, through summer days 
There came a man robust, in gentle guise, 
Who spake in voice subdued and gave us alms. 
With sympathetic words. Ofttimes he stood 
And gazed upon the pool; not when it stirred 
In first ebulliance in the rosy light, 
But when the shade grew cool at evenfall. 
When water spiders darted here and there 
Like dots of darker shadow on its face: 
When all its deeps grew black and clearer gave 
Its dusk reflection to the downward gaze. 
There would he ponder long, then with a sigh 
W^ould turn away and bid us soft good-night 
As if we were of brotherhood with him. 
W^hereat we marvelled, for his raiment shone 
With linen woven in Cyrenian looms, 
And purple gathered from the murex shell. 
Upon his hand the cloven diamond shone 



BETHESDA. 77 



Mingled with sapphire and with chrysophrase. 

His words were chosen as a Rabbi's are, 

Full delicate and dainty in their strength. 

And yet he seemed like one of us who knew 

The burden of a sorrow held so long 

That it was daily use and habitude. 

So seeing him we held our woes more light 

As of the common burden of the world. 

But we knew not his name or whence he came 

Till from the fervent heat, one afternoon 

A woman sought the arch. 

Beneath the sky 
Was never mortal seen more beautiful 
In face or form or movement of the limbs, 
Or sensuous grace of speech, or tender ways. 
Save this, that oft her eyes were sinister, 
Nor steadily would gaze into our own: 
And that sometimes around her mouth there came 
Lines like the leopard's when he nears his prey, 



78 BE THE SD A. 



Though seemed she as but yesterday a child. 
And her we knew. For we had seen her pass 
With flaunting garments, when the twilight came, 
And hollow laugh that echoed far and drear. 
She, resting, stood within the shade and gazed 
Half curiously on us. Her loosened hair. 
Like silk from far Sinensis, fleecy fell 
A sable cloud unto her languid knee, 
And^clustered on her forehead low and broad. 
She stood, and spake not, till the angered crone 
Said, wherefore, woman, comest thou anear: 
Thy place is out beyond the utmost gates. 
So trouble us no more. 

She answered not; 
But with a sudden movement of her arm 
Disclosed the rounded bosom and the charm 
Of all the ivory shoulder tinged with gold. 
And leaned against the wall as leans the vine 
Upon the trellis in the noontide heat. 



BETH BSD A. 79 



Then with a careless smile said — sweet and soft, 
Ah, matron, thou art old: and like the seed 
From the ripe thistle blown, art harsh and dry, 
And know no juiciness of life, or touch 
Of any fervidness of summer noons 
On thy cold heart or in thy shrinking veins. 
Yea, matron, thou art old and therefore scorn. 
I take no coolness from thee in the shade, 
Nor crowd thee in the narrow resting place 
Beneath this spreading arch. A little while 
And I go forth, and leave no word behind 
Of bitterness or railing. Let the rose 
Bloom forth its little hour. It hinders not 
The thistle's seed on chilly winds upborne. 

Then spake the blind man. Woman, hearken me, 

I listen to thy step and hence I know 

That thou art hale and strong. I hear thy voice 

And learn thy heart is fond and passionate. 

Its buoyant accents tell me thou art fair. 



8o BE THE SD A. 



The rustle of thy garments, deHcate 

Doth hint of sensuous grace and courtesy. 

Thy babble is of roses. Thou can'st see 

The splendor of fair fields with blossoms strown. 

In all these gifts find ye no treasure lent 

For which to make accounting? Wherefore now 

In idle dalliance with the drifting days 

Dost loiter far from shelter of the hearth, 

And all the peace of home and loving hearts? 

Quoth she, and hast thou heard the hammers clang 

On anvils of Damascus? By the doors 

Where armorers labored I have marked the scene, 

The glitter of the fire and all the roar 

And splendor of the forges. And the steel 

Lay ready to the master workman's hand. 

And whether from the twisted bar should come 

A blade to shimmer on victorious fields 

Or one to offer up the sacrifice 

W^as in his heart alone. Lo. He who made 



BE THE SB A. 



The glory of the sun ixwd earth and skies 
Has wrought us to the fashion of his will, 
And who shall hinder him. 

Once knew I truth. 
And all the trustfulness of innocence, 
Dreaming that love was like the asphodel 
That golden grows where gentle spirits are. 
When him I met whom ye will see to-day 
Beside this pool when evening shadows fall. 
For so we twain beside still waters stood, 
Beheld our faces in them and the stars 
Twinkle below ere yet our tryst was done. 
The year hath gone, and sullenly and dark 
He sees his own reflected all alone. 
And naught save memory of evil done 
Hath he and I together. He, who lured 
And I, who fell unheeding in the snare. 
Yea, I have faltered by the synagogue 
To see him, with fond wife, exultantly 



82 BE THE SD A. 



Give thanks before the altar of the Lord: 

Wearing phylacteries a handbreadth broad, 

And mark the smiles that all the people gave, 

As in obeisance, did he but deign 

To look upon them there. Then have I gone: 

And shame has followed me along the streets. 

The mocking of the beggar and the jest 

Of Levite passing on the other side. 

Yea, shame and hunger, and the bitter woe 

That comes from dearth of converse with our kind, 

And memory of sweet hours forever dead. 

Aye, blind man, thou art darker in thine heart 

Than in those clouded eyes, to speak of home. 

Or hearthstone shelter, or sweet peace to me. 

Then, turning, with slow steps she went away. 
But in a little while we heard her sing 
As if her sorrow^ a slow comfort found 
In self-communing words. 



BE THE SB A. 83 



Aye, love is sweet. 
When love is guiltless, as the rose is fair 
Untouched by ardor of the fervid noon. 
Ah, Love is life and love is dead to me. 
And life were better ended as the rose 
Dies in the blaze of suns that gave it birth. 
Among the branches darker grew the shade 
And deeper all the shadows 'neath the arch. 
When at the accustomed hour we heard the step 
Of him of whom she spoke; but all our hearts 
Had grown a-cold to him. Yet seeing this 
He smiled, surprised, and threw a double- dole, 
Two coins, to each and passed toward the pool. 
And spake no more to us. Anon, we heard 
Him murmur softly, to himself alone: 

Vain are my gifts upon the altar laid 
And vain the travail of the stormy years, 
The gathering of gold, and praise of men. 
Yea, and the love of woman, cast away 



84 BETHESDA. 



Like blossoms brought with toil from rocky cliffs 

Then flung upon the wayside when the joy 

Hath passed a little space. Aye, vain the faith 

Our fathers brought from sore captivity, 

That we shall rise from out the sepulchre 

To a new Eden. Yet, mayhap, as vain 

The Sadduseean's sullen dream of death, 

A sleep wherein no visions come to us. 

Aye. All is vain. Yet Death the riddle solves. 

This calm, still water could the marvel tell 

To who would trust it. When the gentle breath 

Had bubbled to its surface he would know 

The mystery of all the dark beyond. 

Drowsy we listened to his monotone 

That fell on our dulled senses tiil it seemed 

Receding and confused. Then slumber came 

With dreams that flitted in awakening 

Ere we could hold them as a pleasure known 

Or anguish undergone. For we awoke 



BETHESDA. 85 



To hear shrill cries of wonder and of woe. 

For they who sought for him who watched the pool 

Need seek no more, and lamentation made. 

He lay beneath the water, save that fair 

Above its surface shone his forehead high, 

And hand bedight with jewels. From the space 

Of all the arches swarmed the flies and sank 

In clusters on his brow. And still he lay, 

For on that morn no angel touched the pool: 

And none were healed in presence of the dead. 

Then we were filled with sorrow at the thought 

Of all our coldness to him. And we told. 

In low, remorseful converse, of his gifts 

And many kindly words. I safely laid 

The two denarii in my girdle's fold. 

That I might keep them for his memory's sake 

Till need should wrench them from me. Many days 

Were flown ere we forgot to think of him 

When sunshine faded and the ni2:ht drew near. 



86 BE THE SD A. 



Once, tempted by the coolness of the air 

When after rain the sunlight fell subdued, 

An hour before the dark, we sought the street; 

The blind man guided by our willing hands; 

Our weakness holpen by his greater strength, 

Till, eastward thrown, the shade of David's tower 

Made welcome resting place. And there were come 

A-many curious list'ners to the voice 

Of one who cried: — 

Ah, mine inheritance 
Hath gone from me. Within the outland vales 
A crafty chief made foray where the flocks 
Of many poor and lowly, scattered grazed; 
And spoiled the fields of harvests where his hand 
Had thrown no kernel in the seeding time; 
And garnered orchards that old women watched 
From flower to fruitage with dim, anxious eyes, 
Mocking their tears with many a laughing jest 
And scoff at all their pleading. Yet, he thrives, 



BETH BSD A. 87 



This Mahu Jael, while he scorns the law. 
Yea, while my heritage he harried sore — 
And drove me forth alone, still was he blest. 
So my inheritance hath passed away 
And to my children poverty hath come. 

Then spake a Greek, an epicurean called, 

Clad in soft raiment but with manner cold. 

Why raise thy voice complaining that the stroke 

Of Mahu Jael heavy on thee lies. 

Match thou his craft with guile, his force with 

strength, 
His plotting with thy patience. Know'st thou not 
That men, like vipers, struggle, and the strong, 
The wise, the resolute rear head aloft 
And hiss, triumphant, while the vanquished lie 
Broken and crushed. Go seek thy place afar 
From toil and struggle. Mahu Jael's head 
Shall fall like thine at last and all be done. 
What will it matter. Who will bear the tale 



BETHESDA. 



Unto our children's children, or will care 

That thou wast spoiled; that Mahu Jael laughed, 

Or that I touched thy sorrow with rebuke. 

With slow, uneasy thought I heard his words 
As if I — half unmeaning — shared their guilt. 

Then we the blind man guiding with our sight, 
And he our weakness aiding with his arms, 
Sought once again our places by the pool 
Curtained anew with shadows. But that eve 
We were more sad, as if the stars more far 
Were drawn within the sky, and hope more faint 
Would mingle with the coming of the dawn. 

Light fell the snow upon Jerusalem; 
'Twas years thereafter, and within the porch. 
From out the falling flakes, the loiterers drew. 
And with them came the homeless and the weak 
Who knew no other shelter. Then I heard 



BETHESDA. 89 



Once more of Mahu Jael. For the Greek, 

His face grown older but his eye alert 

And manner affable, came with the rest. 

He to my query answered, yea, I knew 

This Mahu Jael to the day he died. 

And ever as of old he scorned the law. 

Lived long by the strong hand and strangled fell 

By stronger hands than his. A wild wolf's cry 

That rose and sank to silence, that is all 

Of Mahu Jael in his life and death. 

Nay, 'tis not all. So, clear and shrill, a voice 
Made answer to the words. He cannot die 
Save in the flesh that he hath left behind. 
As the brown beetle on the cedar's side 
Leaves empty shard when he himself hath passed 
Into a life renewed. 

I, list'ning turned 
And saw one clad in raiment torn and old, 



90 BETHESDA. 



Of camel's hair close woven. On his beard 

Lay lucent drops of honey. In his hand 

Were locusts crisped by fire, whereof he ate 
The while he said to us. 

The merciless 
Hath gone to judgment and his doom is wrought 
In flame unmerciful through endless days. 
And he who justice mocked doth justice know. 
For God is just. In all consuming fire 
That yet consumes not his keen consciousness, 
Are memories like sting of asps to him 
Of wrongful purpose and the fruit it bears 
On, on, and on, until the world shall end. 
And all the good he scoffed unto his thought 
Is clear and vivid, and in shadowy forms 
Reveals to him the good that might have been, 
Had he but willed it, till the world shall end; 
And yet was not nor evermore shall be. 
For God is just. Yea, every deed shall bear 



BETHESDA. 91 



According to its kind, as 'mid the hills 
Each drifting- seed hath kindred in its yield 
Of more than is itself. 

Then who shall bear, 
The Greek replied, the weight of his own sin. 
Though he be sorrowful before he dies 
That no atonement made he in his day, 
And now the time be gone. Aye, who shall pay 
Of his own debt of evil at the last. 
Repent. Repent, and ye shall have of time, 
Replied the prophet. There is One who comes — 

But, ere his words were finished, from the street 

Came voice of ribaldry and clank of chain, 

And a decurion with his followers came. 

They seized the prophet. With rude hands they 

bound 
The iron links on unresisting limbs. 
King Herod wills, they said, thy rebel heart 



92 BETHESDA. 



Shall break in dungeons by the pitchy sea; 
For thou hast spoken ill of one he loves. 
Grasping his beard they bore him speedily 
Forth from our midst, and him I saw no more. 

From seedtime unto harvest steadfastly 
The lagging seasons rolled, and one by one 
These my companions left me. Intervals 
Of years were lain between but I alone 
At last remained. Nor any joy was mine, 
Through any of the evanescent days. 
When they were gone. For alien every face 
Saving these three to me. Nor any voice 
Other than theirs attuned to friendliness. 
Yet in the joyless hours I yet rejoiced 
For peace was theirs, and gentleness; and care 
Was gone from them afar. For so it was 
That all from me went out into the day, 
The shadows dusk behind them and the light 
On their glad faces. One by one they went 



BE THE SD A. 

And all my throbbing heart went out with each. 
While I was left to watch the shadows play 
Upon the eddying water, and the leaves 
Float here and yon as soft winds wafted them. 

For once there came a morning when the stars 
Shone dull and red through all the filmy haze. 
As was his wont the blind man on the brink 
Sat him a-low with unexpectant trust. 
A ruffian from the Arab wilderness, 
Swart, strong and lithe as desert tigers are; 
Drunken with lees from outcast wineskins drawn. 
And wild with all the terror Ishmael knows 
Within the walls of cities, frantic sprang 
Into our midst. With reckless arm outswung 
He smote the sightless watcher that he fell. 
And at the instant, lo! the waters swayed 
Sweeping the blinded face, caressing it 
With softly flowing touch and lapping low 
The fallen form with ripples delicate. 



93 



94 BE THE SD A. 



He rose and saw the glory of the sun 

New born beyond the east. He marked the clouds 

Like silver mantles flung upon the sky: 

The dim green of the olives, and the shine 

Of almond leaves, afar: the shade that wove 

A fretwork from the branches where the breeze 

Slow swayed them to and fro: then scanned each 

face 
In wonder turned toward him; but he knew 
Not us who shared his solitary years 
Until we spake w^ith loud rejoicing words, 
But with a little envy in our hearts 
That shrank ashamed ere it ourselves we knew% 
For he was hale as aged men are hale 
Who all their days have honor'd Crod's behests. 
And peace w^as on his forehead and his lips 
Were sweet with sympathy for us who lay 
Still bounden in the bondage of our woe. 
Behold, He said. As dwell one family 
Within a peaceful tent in lonely lands, 



BE THE SB A. 



95 



So underneath the arches have we stayed. 

I go not hence but to return again. 

A Httle while I wander where the graves 

Of all my people be. A little while 

Shall note the strangeness of the hills and mark 

How the old paths are changed that thread the vale. 

And with awakened sight shall see once more 

The changeless wild flowers bloom, as long ago 

I saw them in the fields. But on each day 

That comes before the sabbath I will come 

And we shall speak again our simple words: 

Again shall know each other, and the hearts 

Of each shall open in all kindliness. 

And if it chance I come not, and no word 

Before the sabbath hear ye, know that I 

Have passed beyond the twilight into day 

Whence never voice returneth. 

Then he went 
In the new risen sunlight, but each noon 



96 BETHESDA. 



When drew the sabbath near he came to us; 
Sometimes with ripened clusters from the vines 
Of distant vintage grown, sometimes with dates 
Gathered beside the narrow path that led 
From the far fountain down; with pomegranates 
And figs and carob pods of sweeter taste 
Than on the wild trees grew. And roses oft, 
With tender lilies from the wayside dells, 
And mosses woodland grown. At last a day 
Before the sabbath passed nor heard his step 
Upon the stones, or saw his shadow cast 
Between the pillars. Then we knew that he 
Was nevermore for us. 

Then after years 
Crept by more slowly still. One leaden morn 
When thin clouds veiled the sky and airs were 

cold 
Though scarce the wet leaf stirred beside the wall; 
We heard the sound of hautbois floating near 



BE THE SD A. 97 



In measured cadence, and the shriller tone 
Of loud blown dulcimers. The steady tread 
That warriors keep beneath a chieftain's eye. 
The rattling of the sword on greaves of steel, 
And clinking of the mail on jarring shields. 

Anon within our sight the gleam of spears, 

The orderly array of armed men, 

And in their midst a litter high upborne; 

A crimson canopy above, below. 

Fair golden tassels trailing, and around^ 

Broad curtains broidered with the strange designs 

The women of Euphrates weave and blend. 

For now a satrap, from beyond the hills 

That mark the utmost limit of our land. 

Laid low by poison and anear the grave 

Had come to seek for healing in the pool. 

When stopped they by the brink we fell away. 

Crowded on either hand, and left clear space 

For litter and for bearers, while they paused 



98 BE THE SD A. 



To wait the troubled waters. But the youth, 
A youth no more but with thin scattered threads 
Of silver in his beard, more bold than all 
Drew close unto the litter till he touched 
The drooping tassels, and with smiling face 
Made friendship with the soldiers. So he placed 
His hands upon the smooth and burnished shields. 
And of their inlaid silver traced the course 
With curious fingers. And with pleased eyes 
Noted the inwrought armlet of the chief. 
The golden ornaments each cuirass bore. 
And the keen spears and crescent cimetars: 
The while the hautbois spake more low, and less 
Of strident tone came from the dulcimers, 
Until they ceased. 

And we were silent all. 
So silent that I heard, far overhead, 
A little sound as if a bee had thrown 
Himself against the ceiling, or a twig 



BETHESDA. 99 



Wind borne had rustled on the sloping roof: 

Yet sibilant as if a viper's tongue 

On high had darted and then hid again. 

Then, downward shot from where the highest arch 

Its keystone hid in shadows, fell a stone 

Age-loosened from its place. 

Like gossamer 
The silken folds that crowned the canopy 
Were riven as it fell. Above the head 
That lay upon the pillow swung the ha^id 
Unscathed of old by fire. Yea, as it caught 
The white-faced bee long since in idle play 
Thus now it seized the stone, then cast it down 
So that it fell in ripples in the pool. 

The Satrap spake. Beyond the mountains far 
A hundred thousand people sleep in peace. 
And rise in peace at morn, and through each day 
In peacefulness pursue the pleasant round 



lOO BETHESDA. 



Of life and labor all devoid of fear. 

For I in justice rule them. Long ago, 

Ere age had tempered all my fiery blood, 

I laid up need of all atonement man 

May make unto his fellows. Thou has gained 

For them, of blessed years, and fair for me 

The yet atoning time. 

Behold, He said, 
On yon dull water bubbles rise and fail 
And glisten in the glamour of the sun. 
Then lay me down upon these pavement stones, 
Aye, at this cripple's feet, and bear him in 
When highest thrown the troubled waters break. 
And, as he bade, they laid the litter down, 
A burning heap of splendor, where the rays 
Threw their new risen light. Then speedily 
They placed the cripple where the waters rose. 

He knelt and kissed the graven armlet then, 
With grateful streaming eyes, then turned aside 



BE THE SB A. 



To US his old companions. Nevermore 

Be sad, quoth he, for ere the Sabbath dawns 

Shall ye be whole. Behold me, I am strong. 

And when the satrap healed has gone away 

Another morrow comes, and one again. 

And on these mornings will I bear ye in 

Ere yet the crowd can pass. For now mine arms 

Can smite the rabble'back, and ye shall live 

In healthful strength, lo, yet these many years. 

Into the sunlight passed he. 

Never yet 
Had sunshine been so bright to us who stayed 
Counting the hours 'till he should come again. 
But nevermore his shadow on the stones 
Did we behold. A Thracian troop went by, 
'Twas so they told us, as he trod the street 
In all his new born vigor. With the sound 
Of the shrill trumpet all his heart was filled. 
His eyes were dazzled with the shine of spears 



BETHESDA. 



And glitter of the mail. The heavy tread 
In measured time allured his footsteps on: 
A shrewd centurion called him, as he came 
With mimic martial air, persuading him 
That he should be a warrior. So, the path 
That led unto the pool he knew no more. 

We missed his boyish converse and were sad 

That he forsook us in our dreary need; 

And, lonelier still, each nearer drew to each 

In sympathy of sorrow. Each with each 

Had thoughts the same. 'Though we together sought 

To make the burden on our hearts more light. 

The years were longer and the days more dark; 

We heeded not the changes of the hours. 

Nor recked we of the news the gossips brought. 

The alms grew scantier and the looks more cold; 

Full fourscore years the widow now had known. 

And I was old with weariness of time. 



BETHESDA. 103 



She spake not of to-day or yesterday. 

But oft repeated she the stories o'er 

Of her own youth and childhood. How she wrought, 

In patient trustfuhiess, of garlands fair 

That fell in fragments when unto her brow 

She fain would lift them: and how oftentimes 

They likened her to the gazelle that springs 

On Sinai's desert borders. How she saw, 

One drowsy eve, the camels winding come 

To where the fountain flowed; and how she met 

The camel driver there as once, she sa^id, 

Beside the well Rebecca found her lord. 

And how she wedded. How, along the path 

That led unto her dwelling, citrons trailed 

Their golden fruit wherewith the children phiyed. 

How, suddenly, there came the deadly plague 

And smote them all, save her. How, desolate. 

With her own hands she digged the graves, and laid 

The sun-parched turf upon their quiet breasts. 

Then would she sit and rock her to and fro. 



I04 BETHESDA. 



With low, soft moanings, and with crooning words, 
And hands upon her knees and arms half bent 
As if the dead they cradled in their fold. 
Sometimes in dazed imaginings she said 
Her children w^aited for her in the vale 
Beyond the mountains: that their voices cried 
Upon the slow winds, asking she should come. 

The months grew longer than the years had been, 
And fair sweet days of evanescent spring 
More dull than first had seemed the latter rain, 
When gloomy vapors filled the narrow street. 
Our home had grown the arches, and the dark 
And starlight of the night beheld us there. 
The widow, on a mat of woven reeds 
Grown on Abana's edges, hid herself 
Behind the pillars for her restless sleep. 
I, in the outer porch on sackcloth couch 
A water bearer gave me when the pool 
The bruises of a fray had healed for him. 



BETHESDA. 105 



And oftentimes the nights were cold and we 
Cared not to see to-morrow. Oftentimes 
The dogs from out the city lanes stole near, 
And with damp nostrils touched our sleeping eyes, 
Then finding us alive gave yell and shrank 
With crouching haunches into dark again. 

At last a morning came, and I, alone. 
Gazed on the shimmering water in the ray 
Of the last starlight. 

For when midnight came 
I heard a low voice call me and I woke. 
She knelt beside me and within her eyes 
A glad light shone. Her aged face was fair 
With smiling calm and peace ineffable. 

Behold! she said, an Angel I have seen. 
Yea, He who stirs the pool. I waking lay 
Watching the thin clouds drift across the sky 



io6 BETHESDA. 



To hide the stars and send them forth again; 

When suddenly a Presence near me stood, 

Clad in white raiment and with folded hands, 

And sandals flecked with grains of desert dust. 

Around his head a halo of soft light, 

Yet not of sun or star, but like the glow 

A distant beacon launches to the sky 

From some far hillside hidden from our sight. 

And there was kindness in his eyes, and strength 

In all his limbs, and thought was on his brow; 

And a sweet sadness played around his mouth. 

In his low voice was all the melody 

Of holy chanting heard from aisles afar; 

Yet breathing simple words. What wouldst thou have? 

He asked of me; and pleading I replied: 

Oh! Gentle Master, I would have the days 
Of peaceful rest that knew me long ago, 
When I a child beside the fountain played 
And wove me garlands of the early flowers. 



BE THE SD A. 107 



Aye, kind, good Master, I would know again 

The joy that in the twihght came to me 

To watch the camels coming one by one 

Along the winding road, the peace I knew 

When I in ashes baked the millet bread 

For him who ruled our home. Yea, give to me 

Oh, Blessed Lord, the voices that I heard 

My little children speak so long ago. 

Yea, Master, if I go beyond the hills 

There shall I find them. I am weak and old 

But if the pool but heal me I shall go. n 

I left them there and they are waiting me 

And wondering why I come not unto them. 

But I am broken now and all my frame 

Is weariness and woe. When comes the dawn^ 

Into the pool, oh, Master, bear me in 

That I, made strong, may yet return to them. 

The while I prayed the halo round His head 
With deeper luster shone. In lordlier guise 



I08 BETHESDA. 



His snowy raiment flowed. His gaze more deep 
Sank searching into mine — until, afeard, 
I dropt mine eyes and listened. Yea, I heard. 
So shall it be, He said, and when the dawn 
Shall shine upon the ripples thou shalt know 
All this thou askest. Then a little while 
I waited in the silence. When I looked, 
Lo, He was gone. 

Then, thinking she had dreamed, 
But seeking still to comfort her, I said 
Yea, sister, it is well, rejoice and hope. 
And rest until the morning. We shall see — 
But ere my words were ended, slow her eyes 
Closed in a peaceful sleep. Upon her lips 
A sweet smile played as if a pleasant thought 
Too tired for utterance had lingered there. 
And as a child will lay its drowsy head 
Upon a grassy bank or sloping knoll. 
So laid she down her forehead on my breast 



BETHESDA. 109 

And answered not my words. Nor evermore 
Knew she of earth the weariness and woe. 

He is alone who hath no friend anear 

Although earth's hosts were marshalled at his side. 

And I, alone, while other years went by 

Recked not their course, or heeded what they brought 

Of shine or shadow to the outer world. 

And so it happed one morn I brooding lay: 

Whereon One spake, in snowy raiment clad, 

How long, oh, man, art thou abiding here 

And wherefore seek'st thou not the troubled wave 

Thence passing forth rejoicing. Lo, I cried 

In bitterness of heart, can these weak limbs 

Wrestle with all the crowd? How, poor and old, 

Shall I find bearers when the waters rise? 

My trembling limbs are bruised by the stress 

Of many jostling feet. Here, thirty years 

And eight have laid their lash upon my brow 

In groove and wrinkle, and abiding snow 



BETHESDA. 



Is on my beard. The mockers mock at me 
With spurning thrust and rudely uttered jest, 
And bid me seek for healing in the pool. 

And as I, angered, answered, from His eyes 
A soft clear light outshone. Around His head 
The morning rays seemed bended to a crown. 
In majesty He stood. His vesture white 
With graceful folds descended to His feet 
Whereon were sandals reddened by the touch 
Of the dun desert pathways; and His hands 
As dove's wings waver low above the cote 
Waver'd above my head as if to bless. 
The while He spake in accents vibrant, clear. 
Commanding as the brazen trumpet's blast. 
Yet kindly as the viols dulcet sound: 
Arise and take thy bed and hence depart 
Thy heavy penance done; thy sin atoned: 
And breathe agaiii the glory of the air 
That sweeps among the hills, and in the vales 



V 
BE THE SD A. iii 



Sleeps stilly in the sun. Then He was gone 
Ere yet the import of His words I knew. 

Through all my veins there came a glow of strength, 

And my dim eyesight cleared, so I could see 

Of distant birds the flight, and at my feet 

The little red ants crawling in the dust. 

And then, as I was bidden, forth I went 

Into the outer day. The narrow street 

To me was golden in the mellow morn, 

And all things fair and sweet and full of peace. 

Above the wall the myrtle's starry blooms, 
And dark leaves tremulous on slender sprays, 
Recalled the path to Hebron, and I passed 
Out through the gate and southward went my way 
With sturdy steps and firm, with nostrils wide 
Inhaling with deep breath the cheery air. 
And when the noon drew nearer and the heat 
Brought languor to my feet, I loitered slow 
And sought amid the herbasfe that I trod 



112 BE THE SD A. 



For herbs to please my senses. There I found 
Rare mandrakes that, divided, semblance gave 
Of bearded faces in their cloven walls: 
That cried as from the earth I drew them forth, 
So I might eat them with a cloying tongue. 
I from the mallow gathered musky seeds 
Rejoicing in their odor. 

Then mine eyes 
Recalled once more the beauty of the flowers, 
Of lilies, and of Sharon's daffodils, 
And roses of Damascus purple strown. 
The storax branches bearing blooms of snow 
Out-thrown from leaves, that swaying in the wind. 
Showed white and green alternate. And mine ear, 
Having its share of all the joyous toil 
Of knowing earth again, took heed and heard 
The warble of the song thrush and the lark; 
And from the olive groves the bulbul's note 
In full-toned melody. 



BETHESDA. 



113 



But taking heed 
That fast the hours were wasting, on 1 trod 
With measured step and steady. Soon I saw 
The sparrows sit alone upon the rocks, 
And soHtary storks on loftiest trees 
By low, rude dwellings, at whose open doors 
The women sat and sang, beside the mills 
Slow turned to grind the corn, although the sun 
Was speeding to the west. From this I knew 
That Hebron lay a little way before, 
Fair 'mid her vineyards and her harvest fields : 
But, wearied with my journey, loitering, 
I sought for fallen dates ; and in the shade 
Lay down and slept, and when I startled woke 
The stars had risen, and the early night 
Was calm and clear. 

Across the silent air 
A shawm's loud blast rose strident and anear, 
In lower tones came tinkling of a harp : 



114 BETHESDA 



So, from this token, by the well, I knew 
The dancers made them merry in the eve. 

Then I forgot the eight-and-thirty years 

Since by the fountain I the wine-gourd drained, 

And all my outworn raiment, and my beard 

Grown white as petals where the citron blooms. 

And when I, joyous, joined it, all the crowd 

Had gibe, and laugh, and little wanton jest 

Wherewith to vex me : Will the old man dance ? 

Cried one, her hair unsnooded, and her arms, 

Each gentle curve displaying, on my neck. 

Whereat they shouted lustily and sang 

Rude songs to further laughter, till awaked 

To all the change in me, I felt mine eyes 

The unresisted tears drop slowly down, 

So that they ceased, abashed. Oh, youths ! I said, 

And joyous maidens ! Life and love are sweet 

As sounds of music in the silent night. 

But night and music vanish, and the joy 



BETHESDA. 115 



Is ended in its time. An hour to dance, 

And yet an hour to sing, was said of old 

When wise men taught our fathers. Let the song 

And cadence of the viol charm the night 

Ere yet the days of evil come, when ye 

May find no pleasure in them! On each head 

The old man leaves his blessing and departs. 

But lonelier than of old, when I beheld 

The idle leaves adrift upon the pool, 

I went my way into the outer fields, 

Nor cared to seek the town. Where melons grew 

I found a hut on sturdy stakes upraised 

Above the vapors of the teeming earth; 

Its ragged thatch gave shelter till the morn. 

And now, I said, Engedi's fount is far, 

But it shall I behold ere sunset falls. 

Then with free feet I trod the winding path 
In cool of morning, and in noontide glow. 



ii6 BETHESDA. 



I gathered herbs that in the meadows grew. 

And fruits from branches shaken by the breeze. 

By wayside springs I knelt for pleasant draughts, 

And peace was in my heart, such peace as knows 

The bird free flown in air, or lizard lain 

In safe luxuriance in the sultry sun. 

Yea, more than this, before me on my way 

A scorpion lay unfolded, yet the staff 

Within my hand forebore to injure him, 

And stepping quick aside I left him there; 

Rejoicing that with me he knew the warmth 

And shared with me the glory of the day. 

At last I saw a shadow trailing far 

Where a fair palm rose stalwart 'gainst the sky, 

Grown crimson in the west; I sought the well 

But was a stranger as I leaned and gazed 

Into its limpid depths. The clouds, the same 

As in the olden time, inverted there 

Swam gently on in silence, and the moss, 

As long ago, grew on the inner wall. 



BE THE SB A. 117 



But rank weeds were on all the earth around, 
The curb was broken and the hyssop gone. 

Then on my heart came weariness, and fain 
I was to weep. For all were gone away 
That once I knew nor could I follow them. 
Nor was there any one to seek for me. 
A drowsy bee droned past me and I said 
He seeks the crevice of the aged tree, 
Where mid the mould and odors of decay 
He findeth his own home and knoweth, it. 
So let me see the porches once again, 
And old familiar sights, and hear the sounds 
Of all the turmoil of the city streets. 
So while the stars were shining, steadily 
I trod the way toward Jerusalem, 
And reached it at the dawn; but in an hour 
I tired me of the pool. The temple wall 
Was close beside and in the neighb'ring street, 
I sought its shadow in the sultry noon. 



BETHESDA. 



Beside the southern wall there graceful leaned 
A woman, one of Cyprus, with her hair 
In jetty curls on ivory shoulders thrown; 
With laughing eyes and with her rounded breasts 
Half shown by drooping of the careless robe, 
And with crushed camphire sweet and redolent. 
Beside her feet a wine jar: in her hand 
A taper cup of beryl. And she sang. 
Low voiced and clear, a soft alluring song. 

Oh. Drink the wine and it will banish care. 

And he that is alone shall need no friend; 

He that is old shall have his youth again. 

To him that drinks the wine new love shall come, 

And he whose heart is cold shall fervent find 

The red blood running warm within his veins. 

For him the curtains wove of orient weft. 

Their broidered folds shall sway in gentle airs. 

For him the henna's snowy cups of bloom 

Shall give their odor forth. Oh. Drink the wine. 



BETH BSD A. 119 



And discontent shall vanish as the dew 

On Hermon fades before the breath of morn. 

From loneliness to mirth were precious change. 

With eager hand I reached to grasp the cup, 

The gay song answering with gayer jest, 

And ardent gaze on all the loveliness 

Her loosened robe disclosed. When suddenly, 

Beware, I heard in accents deep and strong 

As bid an arm upraised for evil deed, 

At once be stayed. Then knelt 1 at the feet 

Of Him who broke my bonds beside the pool. 

And cried, Oh, Abba, pardon, and the hem 

Oi his white garment lifted to my lips, 

Fearing to raise mine eyes or see His face, 

Or hearken to his words of righteous wrath. 

Beware, He said. Have I not borne thy woe, 

And all thy sin from which thy woe outsprang: 

Sending thee forth rejoicing as of old 

When earth was fair to thee and youth was thine. 



BE THE SB A. 



Then carefully take heed lest thou return 

Into thine old abasement and no help 

Unto thy misery come evermore — 

For mark thee, as the olive when its stem 

Is worn and old and bears but withered leaves, 

And falls beneath the burden of the wind. 

Is grown again from never dying root; 

So in the far hereafter shalt thou rise 

From thine old self of good or evil done. 

And verily I tell thee: They who mourn 

Shall comfort find, and all the humble share 

Jehovah's kingdom: and the merciful 

Have mercy for themselves. The earth shall yield 

Its blessings to the debonnair, and they 

Who bear pure hearts with their own eyes behold 

The ever living God. 

Then He was gone. 
The traffickers passed by me, each intent 
On his own errand. Low the Cypriote sang 



BETHESDA. 121 

Her song persuasive in alluring tones 
To one from Lebanon, a mountaineer, 
Nor on me glanced again. Amid the throng 
I found no comforting or thought of calm. 

The burning sun shone on the narrow streets, 
-And drowsiness was brooding in the air; 
While sullen sultriness within my veins 
Crept slow and venomed; and my brain was dulled, 
And my faint heart was weary. Dreamily 
I communed with myself: Lo! I was made 
By Him who made the world. He made me thus. 
And wherefore on me lies the heavy load 
Of stern denial to the thoughts He gave, 
And all resistance to temptations sent 
In pleasant guise to make my days more fair, 
And make more sweet the life He gave to me; 
Yea, this, my life, whose wasting autumn comes 
With something of the summer in its fold? 



122 BE THE SD A, 



While pondering thus I Hngered where were sold 
The spices of the East, and strange perfumes 
Won from the herbs of many distant lands; 
And while I loitered, timid drew anear, 
From out the alien crowd, a form I knew; 
For sure none other had so graceful mien, 
Or bore such wealth of beauty in her hair — 
Sable as are the wings of birds that slay 
The swarming locusts on far Shinar's plains — 
Massive upon her shoulders, and, adown. 
Its fringes clinging to the flexile knee. 
Aye! She it was, and yet I scarcely kenned 
That it could be, so strangely was she changed; 
For high unto her throat there clung her robe. 
Wrapped careful on the rounded breast, and all 
Its loveliness concealed. Her step no more 
Was careless in its grace; the longing eyes 
Were mild as with the fire the starlight gives 
To the calm skies of harvest, and her mouth 
Was innocent as lips of childhood are. 



BETHESDA. 123 



That know nor scorn, nor anger or of guile, 
Or any thought of wrong; and sweeter, far, 
Than when she sang of roses was her voice. 
Low-toned and tremulous, the while she asked: 
Hast thou rich spikenard — that which traders bring 
From the far plains beyond the purple sea, 
Sealed in the lucent kists of shining stone? 
And here is gold to pay its price withal. 

At this the merchant laughed: Who hast thou snared, 

That he should scatter gold as leaves are blown, 

Or olives shaken from the autumn branch? 

And so from out thy curtains must the breath 

Of costliest perfumes waver on the night; 

Thy couch more odorous than all the fields 

On Sharon's slopes, where amorous roses grow! 

I would, he said, that I were but a girl, 

And not a trader in these costly wares. 

So I might gather gold with luring looks 

And dulcet singing of soft songs to men. 



124 BE THE SD A. 

Then over the broad forehead and the cheek 

And on the gentle neck, like flush of dawn 

That deepens into scarlet, came a glow. 

And then, like snow upon a crimson bloom, 

Came deathly pallor, and from tremulous lips 

Half failing into sobbing came reply: 

Thy jest is evil and thy words are naught. 

These coins I earned by toiling in the fields 

Where crisping wheat and sturdy barley drew 

Their rasping beards across these tender hands. 

The sickle wielded and the gavels bound 

From early morn when on my arms there rained 

From the tall grain the cold night gathered dews. 

When the sun smote me until faintness came 

As from a burden heavy to be borne. 

Through the hot noontides when the wheat was dry 

And scattered kernels at each careless touch. 

Into the twilight when, new born, the dew 

Lay on the stubble; and the twisted straw 

Was pliant knotted on the yielding sheaf. 



BETH BSD A. r25, 



Yet every day was sweet with solace wrought 
In this, that all unblemished came the dole 
That guerdoned my long toil. For I had will'd 
To make a stainless offering to one 
Unstained by earthly guile. This gold is' clean 
As holy is its purpose, void of wrong, 
Like to the sacrifice on altars laid 
By pure hands for pure hearts in olden time. 
As if her tears were dropping with her words 
Her low voice seemed, the while the precious kist 
She laid within the raiment on her brea^st. 
Then went upon her way with steadfast step 
And calm, untroubled eyes, and cheek that paled 
To dusky softness in the ardent day. 

Then, curious to know, I followed her 
And said, Oh, daughter, dost of roses sing- 
As in old days, or art thou silent now 
With silence born of sorrow, for no joy 
Is on thy lip, though loving peace hath laid 



126 BETHESDA. 



Her touch upon thy forehead. Wherefore this? 
I seek for rest and no rest comes to me. 

There is no rest, she answered, patience comes 
And is to rest as is the Rabbi's pra3^er 
After the chanting of the rhythmic psahii: 
As cool of twihght after quiet noons. 
Or stilhiess of fair waters when their flow 
Has ceased in limpid lakes. 

Aye, Aye, Quoth I, 
But wherefore patience when our wasted 3^ears 
Haunt us like shadows stalking by our side, 
And, mocking, point us to the void beyond. 

Not so, she said. The Nazarine doth say, 
And him we trust in humbleness and faith. 
That a sin offering for us shall be, 
And all atonement made for evil done. 
For those who in His name do ask for it. 



BE THE SD A. 127 



And we, relieved from soilure of our days, 

Shall purity of childhood know again: 

So when the change that we call death hath come. 

We pass into a realm where peace doth reign, 

Whose gates are barred to sorrow, and where fear 

Is ever alien, and where innocence 

Disports itself in gladness in the light 

That like unchanging sunrise, gilds the throne 

Of God, our Father. So in faith we wait 

In penitence and patience for our rest. 

The while she spake a sudden uproar grew 

As of a crowd pursuing, and she fled 

Ere it should come to us. And as she ran 

I saw her little feet like swallows skim 

The stony way; her graceful limbs that swayed 

Within her loosened raiment as the branch 

Of some fair vine swings pendant with its leaves 

Outblown by passing breezes, and her arm 

Like tawny ivory bended to her breast 



128 BE THE SB A. 



To hold the casket mid a gathered fold 
Of drooping raven hair. 

Now all my thoughts 
Were grown confused and dim. As in a dream 
I saw my mother's face and heard her say 
That we should rest when all of life was done, 
As she had spoken ere the harvest moon 
On her closed eyelids shone. Anon, I thought 
Of the high mountain whence the trav'ler saw 
The crimson sun at midnight rise again 
To a new day withouten dark between. 
And then it seemed, from patience into rest, 
Was whispered in mine ear. Then rude the tale 
Of the wild robber chief returned to me. 
And how his woe endureth evermore; 
How all of evil, more than sevenfold 
After its kind doth bear of bitter fruit. 
I thought of guilt and the enduring scourge 
Of memory when all the joy is gone 



BE THE SD A. 129 



That made its apples sweet. The Prophet's words 

Came hollow sounding back; so, on and on, 

Till time shall end, our deeds shall follow us, 

Yet there is One who com'eth. To and fro. 

Like the swift shuttle in a weaver's hands, 

The riddle sounded in my weary brain 

Of whom it was so promised! Then to me 

Came recollection of the legend old 

The youth had told concerning Solomon 

In his last day, when all of vanity 

Was the wide past to him: when high were drawn 

The curtains from the ages yet to be. 

Where he beheld afar a Stronger rise. 

Yea, One more wise and purer, from whose hands 

Upon the poor should benediction come. 

Dazed and distraught I rose and ere I knew, 
I was beyond the city gates, the fields 
Were green beside me. 



I30 BETHESDA. 



All my heart was dust 
As was the ashen way beneath my feet. 
Behold, I said, there is no place for me, 
And all is doubt within me and without. 
An hundred days will I in deserts bide 
With prayer and fasting: and in solitude 
Mayhap will wisdom find a voice for me 
And guidance give. 

I sought the wilderness 
And ate of bitter herbs; from brackish springs 
I slaked my thirst, and many vigils kept. 
Yet all was vain, though visions came to me. 
Bloodless and cold in watches of the night, 
And fiends tormenting in my loneliness. 
Until the hundreth morn was come and gone, 
Aye. All is vain I said, there is no light 
Save of these senses, like a glowworm's spark, 
Whose evil odor mingles with its ray 
And marks it of the earth. Then through my brain 



BETHESDA, 131 



There shot the sensuous pleasure of the thought 
Of the fleet feet whose graceful steps I saw 
Flee from the crowd, a hundred days before, 
And the round arm and buoyant, springing limbs. 
Then, like rebuke, the memory of her face, 
Chastened with sorrow, yet alight with trust. 
Came o'er me as I walked, and all her words — 
Forgotten until now — returned to me: 
The Nazarine hath spoken. Who is he? 
For out of Nazareth no good may come, 
They said, when I was young. Now I am old. 
And still they say the same. 

In querulous thought 
And motiveless, I wended t'ward the gates; 
But ere I reached them came a traveler — 
Cheery of face — and met me on the way. 
The Nazarine? quoth I. And who is He? 
And what His work, and where shall Him I find? 
Ah! He is dead! he answered; and the crowd 



132 BETHESDA. 



Is laughing at the jest. Between two thieves 
They slew Him on the cross! Jerusalem 
No more is troubled with the Nazarine. 

Then stunned as one, from out a dreamy sleep, 
Wakes to the glare of noonday — Lo, I said, 
This, too, is vain, and hope but mocks at me! 

Sad sought I, then, the ford of Kedron, w^here 
The road leads to the fields, and sat me down; 
And from mid afternoon till sunset came 
I pondered on my days: 

And one by one 
Each old experience came back to me 
Like pictures 'broidered on dark silken folds 
Of curtains passed before me. At my side 
There chirped a robin, borne on weary wing, 
And with unwonted crimson on its breast. 



BE THE SB A. 133 



'The Nazarine hath spoken!' seemed to me 
As words far floating- in a tender voice, 
Remote and tremulous, from out the air. 
Then from my arid eyeUds sprang the tears. 
And in meek tones I murmured: Father, Hear! 
Though now it be the Nazarine is dead. 
And Him I knew not with mine earthly sight. 
As He hath done for Thy most favored ones, 
So let Him do for me; and in His Name 
And for His sake let light henceforth be mine 
For guidance into rest! ^ 

The deepened shade 
Crept down from Olivet. I shook the dust 
From my worn sandals t'ward the city gates. 
In purpose to depart, but loitered, still. 
Uncertain whither should my footsteps go. 
Softly I thought of Hebron's quiet graves, 
Wherein, of old, the two I loved were laid. 
And were they sunken so that alien feet 



134 BETHESDA. 



Athwart them trod, unknowing? Did the rose 
Bloom by them as long since? And were the palms, 
Sprung from the seeds of Egypt, stately there, 
With growth unkenned by me? 

Then thought more harsh 
Of who had known me in the distant days 
Would hail me now in Hebron, save with gibes; 
How they w^hose grandsires knew me in my youth 
Would mock my ragged garb. No more, I said. 
Need I that pathway travel. Thence afar 
To Emmaus or Gadara I wnLl go; 
There no man's memory may my name recall. 

With purpose steadfast and unswerving feet 

I hied me on my way. But scarce an hour 

Was gone before I paused. A woman, bent 

With weight of beggary and famished toil. 

Stood by the w^ayside with extended hands. 

No w^ord she spake; but her dark eyes were dulled 



BETHESDA. 135 



As if by prayers unanswered, and her lips 

Trembled as if with asking long denied ; 

Her snowy hair from wrinkled temples hung 

To shrunken shoulders, and her fingers brown, 

Were like the talons of the birds that come 

In times of famine from the distant hills 

To tear the scattered flocks. Her wan, worn face 

Unknown to me ; yet it familiar seemed 

As is a dream that in a dream returns, 

Faint and elusive in the mists of sleep. 

And like a vision in a dream recalled 

Rose mine own sorrow, through the faded years. 

When, from Engedi's vale, I sought the pool : 

And then — in strange inconsequence — the mound 

Whereon I planted seeds so long ago. 

And then a consciousness within my brain 

Seemed speaking silently, but heard withal, 

Even as from the mellowed earth does rise 

Bright palms from dusky seeds, so in thine heart 

Should mercy rise from sorrow. So, I sought 



136 BETHESDA. 



Within my folded girdle. Thence I drew 
The two Denarii that the noble gave, 
And laid them in her hand. 

In quaver shrill 
Quoth she : The Lord will bless thee, for thy heart 
Is open to the poor and they are His. 
And, Shobab, look on me, knowst not the child 
That to her mother's garment clung the while 
She gave thee sombre seeds of Egypt's palm ; 
Or yet the maiden who with timbrel's sound 
Hailed thee, beside the path, the afternoon 
Ye went returning from Jerusalem 
Toward the ripened vineyards long ago ; 
Aye, in the distant years when we were young. 
Now, we are old and time for rest is near. 
So heed my words. For well my mother knew 
The runes that lay within the hidden kist, 
Beneath the throne of Solomon, the king 
Of Judah and of Genii ; and whom God 



BETHESDA. i37 



Gave wisdom greater than to Sons of men. 

For God, our Father, speaks in many ways 

And guides us with the shadow of His hand, 

Which we deem darkness while it leads to light. 

As in far Thebes the tufted pinnacles 

Rear their green heads aloft, where holy ones 

Shall come to dwell in solitude and calm, 

So by fair Hebron's fountains rise the shafts 

Of palms thy hands have planted, and their leaves 

Sway gently o'er the graves of those ye loved. 

There go and rest shall find thee, and content, 

And placidness of thought, and peacefulness 

Free from all turmoil of the stormy world; 

Void of regret for all the years agone, 

And fear of those that yet may come to thee. 

Farewell, I answered, Sister, may His hand 
Deal gently with thy age, and peace be thine 
As thou hast willed for me. And as I spake 



138 BETHESDA. 



We turned and went upon our several way. 
She speaketh truth I said. 

The haunts of men 
Are nevermore for me; nor yet the fields 
Where solitude is brooding and my heart 
Aches in the void of silence. I recall 
Where close by Hebron lies the narrow road, 
The fountain yields its waters, and the dates 
By winds that sweep o'er autumn threshing floors 
Are scattered to the ground. There caravans 
Of traders come and go. There some are ill, 
With fevers of the desert; stricken some 
With wounds from battles foughten in the plains 
And fain would have of succor. I will go. 
Beside the spring a dwelling rude will raise 
And drive away the weeds with thrift of figs; 
With opulence of melons and of corn. 
There every morn of gentle toil shall bring 
Its due allotted portion, and each eve 



BETHESDA. 139 



The promise of sweet sleep. Each noontide hour 
Shall bear the benison of pleasant rest 
Beneath the trees I planted long ago. 
So, germinal of all fair thoughts shall life 
Pass softly to its end, when I shall know 
The unread mystery that lies beyond: 
And from this flow'ring of my spirit here 
Shall gather distant fruitage. 

Thence I came; 
The Theban palms were buoyant in the breeze, 
Their stems like pillars rose against fhe sky. 
And, at their feet, the wild thorn-roses blew 
As in my youth I knew them. Though the graves 
Were leveled with the ground I kenned their place. 
And close beside them seemed a space for me. 
The twilight came, and darkness, yet I stayed 
For whither elsewhere should I seek my home? 

I sat beside the curb, a fallen stone 

Rounded and smooth made pillow for my head 



140 BETHESDA. 



Bowed low on bended arms. My drowsy eyes 

Closed wearily: no rest was in my heart. 

The thin voice of the creeping wind came faint 

Through the low herbs. It faded into tones, 

For now I slept, of softly breathing flutes 

Borne near and nearer. Then, through silver veils 

That changed to gold and crimson in the sky, 

Then cleft apart while azure shone beyond, 

I saw the cherubim rise from the ark — 

The carven ark, that 'neath the temple roof, 

I saw lang syne — and from their lips there came 

Joining the slender music, joyous song. 

It is no dream, they sang; for God hath raised 
Beyond earth's darkened realm His palaces 
Wherein earth's sons and daughters strive no more 
With sorrow or with wrong. There love is fond 
Yet hath no passion; and there, gentleness 
Hath fear of no beguiling. Innocence, 
That knows no craft, is shining in each face; 



BETHESDA. 141 



And unto each his childhood comes again, 
Blent with the wisdom that his pilgrimage, 
Or brief or long, hath taught him. 

So they sang. 
And then, as if receding, sang again. 
It is no dream, they sang; it is no dream. 
Then as in silence their sweet voices died 
The azure cloud was lifted, and below 
I saw broad gardens. Mid the leafy shade 
Arose the domes of temples; and the air 
Was sweet and hazy with an incense smoke 
That rose unceasing to a hidden throne. 
Known by its soft effulgence thrown afar 
On the high skies. And in those fields beheld 
A little maid adorned with daffodils 
And coiling roses on her shoulders thrown. 
A dark face, sable bearded, on whose brow 
The helmet's mark seemed graven. More than all, 
Crowned with ripe wheat that white as lilies shone, 



142 BETHESDA. 



My fair young mother, for from her was gone 

All that which was of sorrow or of toil. 

Yea, those I knew beside the distant pool 

Were there with them, and peace was with them all. 

I woke. The chill wind through the herbage crept: 
Coldly the starlight shone. The branched palms 
Threw far and clear a tracery of shade 
That wavered on the ground. But, at its edge, 
The sky bore silver promise of the dawn. 

Where reached the shadows when the sunrise came. 
I builded these stone walls beside the path. 
Upon them laid this roof of verdant turf; 
This garden digged where wanton weeds were grown. 
With mine own feet through yonder herbage wore 
The gray line of the path that meets the track 
That, through the vale, the traders traverse slow. 
Here have I borne the weary to my home. 
And here have carried to wayfaring ones 



BETHESDA. 143 



Of cooling water and of welcome food — 

Have knelt beside the dying; of the dead 

The wearied eyes have closed: and they who mourned, 

With words of comforting have lulled to sleep. 

So, in the change of never changing days, 
Long since came perfect peace. 

But yester-eve 
A new-found glory kindled all my heart 
With an exultant joy. A Canaanite 
Asked of me shelter, and beside my hearth 
Gazed keen into my face. Ah! Thou art he, 
He said, who long ago beside the pool 
Beneath the porches, at the Master's word 
Arose and walked, and bore thy bed away. 
Though not for thee the troubled waters rose. 
And knowst thou not the Master? He who lay 
Within the manger when the fleecy light 
Made aureole on the Virgin Mother's head; 



144 BE THE SD A. 



He who to Egypt fled from Herod's wrath, 

And slept beneath a palm whose branch shall wave 

When dawns the Last Day on the earth redeemed. 

He whom they crucified on Calvary 

That even I, a Gibeonite, should live 

Free from the sin atoned for by His Blood. 

Yea; Shiloh, prophesied from olden time, 

Whose Kingdom is of Heaven, and whose sway 

Is in men's hearts, and over all the earth 

Shall spread in beams of holy blessedness. , 

Then knew I who had healed me, and I knelt 
And invocation made. Oh, Father, hear: 
Although like barren fig trees are my days, 
As wirble of dead leaves on Autumn winds, 
Or stubble shorn by fire, yet I am Thine; 
My wrong atoned for and my burden cast 
Through Him whose agony hath purchased peace 
To all Thy children. Therefore bid me come 
To mine inheritance beside Thv throne. 



BE THE SD A. 145 



And if, Oh, Father, it may be Thy will. 
Then grant a sign that I perchance may ken 
When Thy call cometh and mine hour is near. 

Then, from an ashen cloud that rode the sky, 
A lambent light descended as a torch. 
Inverted, flares a moment and is gone. 
And by this symbol given, well I know 
That ere yon sun is hidden in the west 
My task is finished and my journey done. 



BAR ENON. 



Bar Enon in the Deccan held high sway ; 
And far and near the Ryots tilled the land 
To share with him its harvests. All his heart 
Was dour and strong and haughty and no woe 
Of others touched it in the evil days. 
And all his thought was that bright gold should fill 
His strong barr'd coffers, that the lambent eyes 
Of innocence should droop beneath his gaze, 
And that brave men should falter at his word, 
That law should fail before his will ; and all 
Yield place to him with low obeisance. 



BAR EN ON. 147 



x\nd so through wrathful years each passion traced 

A deeper furrow or a bolder swell 

On cheek and lip and forehead. To his feet 

Came step more reckless — to his voice a tone 

Of anger more relentless : and more deep 

The silent curses smote him as he passed. 

It happened in the later days when so 

In turmoil swam the evil in his heart, 

One eventide, beneath a pippal tree 

He saw the peasants sitting in the shade ; 

Their labor done, and weary in their rest, 

Yet hearkening a fakeer's idle tale. 

And happy in the twilight ere the sleep 

Of the deep night should come to make them strong 

For all the morrow's toil. 

He envied them 
The peace he knew not. From beside the way 
He gather'd seven stones, gray, round, and smooth, 



148 BAR ENON. 



And worn by waters of the ancient floods 
Whose storms had dug the valleys 'twixt the hills 
And with them stoned the people so they ran 
As conies flee when desert dogs pursue. 
Then from a branch on high a parrakeet 
Cried out, and, Seven, seven, seemed to say : 
And then an owl that answered low and grave, 
For so Bar Enon thought. So much, so much. 
And then in the deep silence croaked again, 
No more, no more, for so unto his ear 
The dull sounds drifted. And the evening wind 
Soughed sorrowful and low, and wild and weird 
From out the jungle came a tiger's cry. 

Bar Enon sought his home, and round his couch 
The crimson curtains drew. Anon, he lay 
In sullen heavy sleep till, midnight past, 
A sound he heard as of a cimetar 
Struck seven times upon a brazen shield. 



BAR ENOh\ 



149 



And through his brain a voice rang shrill and clear 
Saying, Seven, seven, seven. And anon. 
So much, no more, low muffled tones replied. 

And, lo ! Bar Enon said, My time has come 
While seven wasting minutes haste away. 

Then through his 'wakened spirit horror crept 
And chilled his limbs and set his brain aflame ; 
A roaring as of rivers, or of blasts 
That sweep high wintry summits, in his ear 
Rose in deep volume. But through all he heard 
The water dropping where beside the wall 
A high clepsydra stood and one by one 
The passing moments signalled as they fled. 
And sure the drops he counted, one by one, 
Fast, one by one, they fell and plashed, and died 
In momentary silence, and anew 
Plashed one by one again. And in his woe 
He called upon the gods, yet, one by one, 



150 



BAR EN ON. 



The water drops he counted. Then despair 

That heav'n would know him not came o'er his heart 

And loud he blasphemed that the gods were dead 

Or idle or asleep and would not hear : 

Yet mid his words there fell the water drops 

In measured cadence, and he counted them 

As one by one they fell, until the tale 

Of minutes sevenfold was come and gone : 

And he drew breath and listened and the sound 

Alone the silence broke, and all was peace 

And safety wrapped about him. So ; he said 

Are seven hours for me ere I shall die. 

Then idly on his pillow fell his head 

And his lithe arms lay nerveless, for his sense 

Did sway and vanish into silent air. 

Nor from his swoon he came until an hour 

Had nearer drawn the morn. He haggard rose 

And from a vial thin and delicate 

Poured viscid drops of the fierce hempen juice 

That dulls the brain to sorrow, and in sleep 



BAR ENON, 151 



Brings transitory visions of delight, 
Then laid him down again. Unto his face 
Came slow the calm of childhood, and he slept. 
The wrinkles loosened on his rugged brow, 
A smile fell on his lips, and his low breath 
Kept rhythmic time to tones the water-clock 
Made with its plashing. And the morn drew on, 
The sun shone through the lattice, shrill and clear 
Upon his roof the parrots called and cried. 
Bar Enon woke, in all forgetfulness 
Of his wild fear. The placid sunshine lay 
Athwart the floor, the morning air was cool, 
The high bird-voices joyous rose and fell. 
And from his brain the fragment of a dream 
Sweet with the scent of roses slowly waned. 
So, for a moment, all his heart was calm 
And strong and peaceful. Then as shadows fall 
From clouds that herald that the earth shall quake, 
Fell on his soul the thought. Aye, I shall die 
And into darkness vanish ere shall fade 



152 



BAR ENON. 



The pleasant morn into the sultry noon. 
Ere yet the seventh hour shall well be past 
Bar Enon dies and all his power is dust, 
And all his name a dream. He rose : his steps 
Wavered and faltered as he sought the porch. 

He saw the dial where the thin shade drew 

The line that marked the hour. He gazed afar 

And saw the water shine upon the fields 

Where thrifty sprang the rice with verdant spires 

A-tremble in the breeze, the mango trees 

Their broad arms stretching wide, the gaudy blooms 

Of poppied gardens, and the lazy sail 

A slow raft showed upon the river's tide 

And at his side a spider wove her nest. 

Beside his feet a beetle bored the clay, 

Along the stone a heavy-laden ant 

Crept toilsome and content ; so, all around 

He saw the labor of the teeming earth 

And knew that life was sweet. The jungle's edge 



BAR ENON. 153 



But little distance lay and from it came 

Again the tiger's cry as yester-eve 

It rang upon the air, for this alone. 

The lord of all the jungle, braved his wrath. 

He looked upon the dial and the shade 

Had moved a finger's width. 



My wrath was strong, 
He said unto himself, but yonder brute 
Cries stronger from the reeds, and I shall die, 
And he will scare the village and the plains 
Will fill with terror when these hands are dust, 
And raise his cry in triumph in the night 
Beside my burial place. And then again 
There came the cry defying from the reeds. 
Bar Enon downward gazed ; the dial's shade 
Had moved a finger's width. What matters it, 
Quoth he, my time is come, a half hour's space 
Measures the world to me. 



154 BAR ENON. 



He turned and sought 
The weapons on the wall. He grasped a hilt. 
Not of squared dagger that the Persian wields 
Nor curved cimetar or Giaour sword, 
But of a zig-zag blade with temper wrought 
In wind-blown furnaces beyond the floods 
The eastern mouth of Ganges sends to sea. 
With fearless step he sought the outer air 
Yet in a moment paused, and hesitant, 
Then with firm purpose, turned upon his steps. 
And from a hidden casket barred and bound 
Brought forth a tiny vase and from it poured 
A fluent poison on the shining steel. 
Then waved the blade in air and then once more 
Upon it poured the liquid 'till its edge 
Was crimson crusted. Forth again he went. 
The cry came from the jungle. And he knew 
There yet was time ere the brief hour was done. 

And as he passed, a beggar by the way 



BAR ENON. 



155 



Knowing his face crept slyly out of sight 

Fearing a wanton thrust. A peasant drove 

His harnessed oxen to their work afield 

Yet passed a circuit round lest he should meet 

The master in his anger. By a spring 

A little girl a water pitcher bore 

Half filled upon her head ; but seeing him 

Dropped all her burden and with fearful feet 

Fled far away as if a fiend pursued. 

The tiger's cry came nearer. Shrill and clear 

Bar Enon mocked its voice and answered it ; 

And so defying, from the jungle drew 

The kingly beast. And in the interval 

Yet keeping at a distance in their fear 

Swarmed forth the village, for the rumor ran 

That he was mad. 

The tiger slowly crept 
And slow Bar Enon trod. The tiger's eye 
Was not more vengeful than Bar Enon's gaze. 



156 



BAR ENON. 



The tiger crouched and low Bar Enon's knee 
Bent downward half to earth. The tiger sprang, 
And suddenly Bar Enon forward fell, 
Then turned and upward drove the crusted blade 
And loosed his hold on hilt and rolled aside, 
While fell in mid career his stricken prey. 

Then rose Bar Enon to his feet and stood 
With folded arms a moment and then passed 
Regardless of the people to his house ; 
And as he reached the dial saw the shade 
Must move a finger's space ere yet the hour, 
The seventh hour, would end and all be done. 
And bright before him all the landscape lay. 
The rice was waving where the waters slept. 
While poppies rose and fell where passed the wind 
With transient pressure on the crimson fields ; 
The mango's shade was shortened, and the light 
Broadened and deepened so the snowy sail 
Was clearer drawn against the sky beyond. 



BAR ENOIV. i^y 



And near at hand the people's cries arose 

In awe and wonder from the jungle's edge 

Where the slain tiger lay. And one, whose flock 

The beast had ravaged, paused beside the porch 

And gave him lowly rev'rence as he went 

With worship in his mien, and thankfulness 

That never yet Bar Enon's eye had seen 

Or heart had ever known. And like a draught 

From cooling water in a wilderness 

Of smiting suns and ever burning sands 

It came to him. And dark the shadow crept. 

All unperceived and slow, the while his sight 

Grew misty for a while, so that he recked 

No passing of the moments 'till again 

He gazed below. And, lo, a finger's breadth 

The shade had passed beyond the mark that gave 

Its limit to the hour. 

As one grown old 
With sudden stroke of palsy slowly turned 



158 BAR EN ON. 



Bar Enon to the inner room where high 

The gHttering weapons hung upon the wall, 

And laid him on the floor. The gods are great, 

He said, and merciful, and they have heard, 

And seven days are mine. Yea, who shall say 

That seven weeks at last shall be denied. 

And while he lay and trembled in his joy, 

With cries, and tears, and prayers to all the gods 

His fathers knew, the scared and wond'ring slaves 

Crept near a crevice watching and they said, 

Aye, he is mad and Heaven hath stricken him. 

So that the tale went forth that he was mad : 

And none dared come anear : and so the day 

He passed alone. At last the eventide 

Fell cool and soft and restful on the earth 

And deepened into night the while he lay 

As lies one listless waiting ; and the stars 

Shed a dim light, that through the lattice thrown. 

Gave ghostly glimmer to the idle arms, 



BAR EN ON. 



159 



And made each little shadow seem to move 

As if a footstep slid along the floor, 

And left each recess shrouded deep in gloom. 

Then slow the door did waver and again 

Closed softly, and once more did swing ajar 

Silent and softly, and he saw a face 

Peer in with gaze intent the while a form 

In dusky outline showed. A yataghan 

Lay at his hand : he sprang and, lo, the child, 

Who fled from him beside the well, he saw, 

Her pitcher by her side half filled ^nd cool 

With limpid water. Wherefore this, he cried, 

Is dagger in thy little bosom's fold 

Or biting poison borne within thy hand ? 

And who hath sent thee here with stilly feet 

To find me in the dusk ? He bade her come. 

A brazen sconce he lighted and her face 

He studied calm and cold. His cruel gaze 

She met with upturned eyes and trembling lips, 



6o BAR EN ON. 



Clasping the jar between her tiny hands. 

Through all the village runs the awful tale 

That thou art crazed, she said. Thy slaves are gone 

Into the ouLland fields that they thy blows 

Shall meet not in thy frenzy, and 1 come 

To bring thee water in thy fever's thirst 

And bid thee hope and wait. I saw thee slay — 

1 backward gazed when I had reached the hill 

And saw thee slay the tiger — so, no more 

His cry shall scare me in the lonely night, 

And I no more shall fear him as I go 

To fill my pitcher at the flowing spring : 

And I am grateful to thee, so I come. 

Then coldly said Bar Enon, From the jar 

Drink a deep draught thyself and we shall see. 

Her slender arms she raised and lifted it 

And drank, and at a sign, deep drank once more 

The while her eyes he watched and innocent 

She looked into his face. And as a smile 



BAR EN ON. i6i 



Sardonic crept about his mouth she laughed 
With sweet and silver laughter, for she thought 
The gloom was lifted from his frenzied heart. 
Then calm he questioned of the spring, the fields. 
Of the low cottage where she dwelt, and all 
The little paths she trod in daily round. 
And watched her keenly 'till an hour was past. 
Close by his side a golden bauble lay 
A Nautch girl gave him in a wild wassail 
Of yester-year that now seemed far away. 
Take this, my child, he said, it shall be thine, 
And from thy pitcher, see, I drink a draught. 
Then as she went he watched her as she passed 
And faded in the shadows and the mist. 

Bar Enon's heart was turmoil, to and fro 

From room to room he trod. Through the long night 

He heard the water plashing drop by drop 

Until each seemed a warning of his doom. 

And to his thought his life came back again 



i62 BAR ENON. 



With woe and want and anguish he had wrought 

In wantonness on others, and he knew 

Not seven weeks or months could yet atone, 

And dared not think of years. And through the hours 

The watching bondmen from the distance saw 

His shadow dim the curtains as he passed. 

When morning came he called a slave and spake — 

Go, find for me the wise men of the tribes, 

The Santon and the bonze and the seer, 

The rabbi and the mufti, bid them come ; 

And bid them haste, — Bar Enon waits for them. 



They came unto him. From the Santon's eye 
Flashed a wild fire, of many wanderings born 
And nursed within the desert's solitudes. 
The bonze and the seer with muffled voice ; 
And mufti turbaned and with haughty tread, 
The rabbi with calm eyes and lofty mien 
And guarded watchful manner. And they stood 



BAR ENON. 163 



Before Bar Enon, asking, What from us 
Doth great Bar Enon crave ? 

He answered them, 
This I would know from ye whose crafty lips 
In life lead all the people and whose w^ords 
Breathe peace above the dying. How shall man 
At his last day bid terror flee from him, 
And meet the darkness of the after time 
When all his members into dusty earth 
Or smoking flame shall vanish ? Tell to me 
Not that which ye have heard but^what ye know. 
The rabbi answered : — Clear the law is writ 
And he who walks therein shall have of peace 
In sleeping and in waking, in his life 
And in his death alike. For know, the law 
That guides toward the good and bids thee shun 
All thought or deed of evil interweaves 
With all there is of earth or sun or star 
And shall not fail until it be fulfilled : 



i64 



BAR EN ON. 



From seed time cometh harvest, and the peace 

Of the full ear from struggle of the spire 

With rain and sun and smiting of the storm. 

The bonze murmured :^Wherefore ask the wise ; 

Shall bitter herbs that love the brackish sand 

Along the borders of the pitchy sea 

Find nurture in the valleys where the earth 

Knows all the richness that long rains have brought 

From far and alien hills, and where the suns 

Of softening centuries have deepened it 

f^it for the furrow and for harvest toil ? 

Thy soul is bitter as the wormwood leaf 

That loves the poisoned soil of desert lands. 

So, wherefore bid thee look within thy heart 

To peaceful contemplate until the world 

And thee and thine shall vanish from thy thought ; 

Until thy spirit like a lotus lies 

Reflected in the idle wave that flows 

Unceasing to and fro ; until to thee 



BAR EN ON. 



'65 



Comes passage all unconscious into peace. 

Then quolh the Santon : — Let him pierce with thorns 

His evil nature who of blessedness 

Would have in his last day. Once, long ago, 

I, then a warrior, lay upon the plain 

Where battle rose and fell and rolled away 

And left me all alone. And terror came 

In myriad forms to me until I swooned 

Into a sleep that was like death to me. 

Yet I awoke and lived, and took the garb 

The ragged Santon wears and sought the caves, 

Yet gave kind words to all beside the way 

And all I met, and friendly counsel gave, 

So wrath did die within me. Then one day 

Even the locusts vanished from the fields. 

In the high rocks the swarms gave forth no sign 

O'f store of sweetness. The wide well was dry 

By the hot wayside ; and I famished fell. 

Into mine ear came dulcet tones, mine eyes 



1 66 BAR EN ON 



Saw legions of the blest in filmy haze, 

And all around in royal purple rose 

A light that swept the heavens. This was death, 

Yet I awoke and live that I may tell 

Of all the holy joyaunce of the hour 

To him whose soul is strong to look within 

And smite the evil there. 

Then spake the seer, 
Whose brow was darkened by the pitchy flame 
That from the earth upsprings on Iran's broad 
And waste asphaltic plains. I come, he said, 
From where of old great Zerdusht taught the truth 
That all who come into this evil world 
Are free by nature, and all equal are 
In sight of Heaven and of all the just. 
And he who this recalls and marks thereby 
His daily hours on earth shall have no fear 
Of what hereafter comes. The mufti said. 
Save him whose hand is raised to guard the faith. 



BAR EN ON. 167 



Vain man should know no wrath. Our law hath said 

Oft let thy prayers be told with face upturned 

Toward the Holy City, and thy hands 

Be washed as symbol of a cleanly heart, 

And study what the prophet taught to men, 

So when the shadows of thy latest day 

Shall lengthen into darkness thou shalt see 

Across their shade a golden thread stretch o'er, 

A bridge unto thy feet so thou shalt pass 

To all eternal peace. 

He bade them go, 
Giving of golden mohurs unto each, 
Saying for this write me a scroll that tells 
The inmost wisdom of thy creed and law ; 
And bring it me ere seven weeks are done. 

The Santon drew aside his ragged robe 
Lest he should crush a spider as he went. 
The magian flung aloft his arms and cried 



1 68 BAR EN ON. 



An invocation to the flaming sun 

Red drooping in the west. The mufti stooped 

And laid a carpet on the earth and knelt 

Silent a moment and then went his way 

With look serene. The Hebrew laid his hand 

As if in blessing on the head that hid 

Behind a pillow where, by little feet, 

A water-jar lay dusk within the shade. 

And as Bar Enon gazed upon each face 

He saw the sign of peace he ne'er had known 

Nor yet he hoped to know. 

His steward came. 
To him he said, the names of all who call 
Bar Enon tyrant o'er these lordly lands 
Write me within the hour. A lurking smile 
Stole o'er the menial's features as he thought 
The task was all too great, the time too brief ; 
And this Bar Enon saw and waxing wroth 
Said take until the morrow, but if aught 



BAR ENON. 169 



Men lisp against me unrecorded be 
The jackals of the jungle gnaw thy bones 
Ere yet its sun shall set. So let it be, 
Answered the steward ; when the morrow came 
The scroll lay written, in Bar Enon's hand. 

Day followed day. Each eve from off the scroll 
Bar Enon struck a name, a sin atoned 
For each one cancelled, and so day by day 
Until the last day of the weeks had come 
Bar Enon wrought his task. 

And peacefully 
This last day shone upon the fields ; the rice 
Rose strong where first the gleaming waters lay. 
The river banks were brown, for now the heat 
Had shrunk the fountains in the far off hills 
So that the stream ran low, and scarce the tops 
Of the white sails were seen beyond the plain ; 



i7o 



BAR ENON. 



And to Bar Enon all the land was fair, 
While onward swept the sun from east to west 
As never yet to him its course had rolled : 
And coolness came and shadow and the dusk 
With soft winds blowing low. 

The night was come 
And darkness deep without. Within, a lamp 
Threw fitful light upon Bar Enon's brow 
And on the scrolls he read, wherein the law 
Was written by the wise men of the tribes. 
And still he read, nor any sound he heard. 
Even the water-drops were stilled to him 
Though yet they told the moments as they fled, 
Nor recked he of their flight ; but still he read 
In wonder at the wisdom of the words 
The great of old had spoken. Suddenly 
He marked the lamplight waning, and he saw 
That day had dawned anew. 



BAR ENON. 



^ Then he arose 

And went upon his daily task again 
As if of yesterday. And day by day 
Each eve he marked a good deed on the scroll 
Or scored thereon a penance. And the days 
Of seven months were ended and the dark 
Fell on his dwelling, and he sought his couch 
Saying, all is ended and my time has come, 
For never yet was mercy greater shown 
Than hath been shown to me. So much, no more, 
I dare not think of years, the will be done 
Of all the gods on high. 

The morning light 
Stole through a crevice and its slender shaft 
Lay like a sword-blade on Bar Enon's breast. 
And upward crept and touched his lips until 
A smile as soft as ever mother knew 
Above a first-born's cradle seemed to lie 
On his calm face. It touched his eyes and, lo ! 



172 BAR EN ON. 



He woke and saw the daylight and the shine 
Of the bright arms that hung upon the wall, 
And glitter of the drops that one by one 
Fell from the high clepsydra. And the voice 
Of birds upon the roof rang shrill and high. 

Lo ! seven years, aye ! seven years, he cried 

Are mine ere I shall die. His swelling heart 

Beat with high tumult. Like a vista seen 

Between long lines of verdure that at last 

Mingle in dimness with the distant skies 

The future seemed to him. He raised his arms 

Noting a new found strength ; and soon his thoughts 

Fell into olden channels and he dreamed 

A waking dream of pleasures yet to be, 

And thought, a peasant passed him yester-eve 

With scowl on brow and how the lash should lie 

On the weak limbs ere yet the day should fail. 

He proudly marked the glitter on the wall 

Of kreece and sword and dagger, and of spears 



BAR EN ON. 173 



Wrenched from the hill-tribes in fierce forays past. 
And soon he smiled to think of all the fear 
That late had wrought on him. 



Anon, he rose, 
And gazing through the lattice saw the fields 
Fair in the growing light, and marked the step 
Buoyant and joyous of the child that bore 
A pitcher on her head, and heard her sing 
To simple melody a simple song 
And in it heard his name. For cleeir she sang 
How bold Bar Enon had the tiger slain, 
And how the people praised him ; how his days 
Were like the acacia's growth of cruel thorns 
Wounding and tearing till its latest time 
Beholds its flower and fruitage. While she sang. 
Repeating oft the words, the Santon came 
And pausing faced the sun and spoke a prayer, 
With glory in his face. 



174 ^^^ EN ON. 



Bar Enon turned : 
His scroll lay at his bedside and thereon 
Its tale of sin atoned and penance done. 
And close beside the volumes of the law 
Lay loosed and open. And his heart recoiled 
From his dark day-dream ; and he took the scroll 
That each among the wise men gave to him, 
And all the volumes in his girdle placed 
Saying, let me have but wisdom, so shall keep 
My record day by day within the bounds 
That all the gods ordain. And let the law 
And prayer and penitence abide with me 
Until my years be done. Let mercy rule 
Within my breast as I shall mercy ask 
In my last day. 

The ever-changing years 
Whitened Bar Enon's beard. His hair like snow 
Fell on his shoulders drooping with the weight 
Of labor done each day, of justice done 



BAR ENON. 



175 



With toil and trouble, and of self denied 

In hours of sore temptation, and the years 

Wrought deep on lip and forehead, and his face 

Was changed to gentleness, nor on it showed 

An evil passion's trace. Upon the wall 

The weapons rusted in the peaceful days 

For no hand stirred them. When Bar Enon passed 

Leaning upon his staff, each ryot bent 

In pleased abasement and his blessing fell 

Soft on Bar Enon's ear. And so, at last. 

One eve he passed the pippal tree and heard 

A fakeer praise his deeds, and heard the birds 

Crying among the branches. And his feet 

Went slowly to his dwelling. 

When the day 
Lay 'twixt the sun and starlight, slowly came, 
For he himself was old, the Santon gaunt 
And worn with fasting and with pilgrimage. 
To see Bar Enon ere himself should seek 



176 BAR EN ON. 



Again his place within the desert lands. 
To him Bar Enon spake : — 



'Twas long ago 
When from the pippal tree the parrakeets 
Called shrill to me, and Seven, seven, said : 
And then, So much, no more, the owl replied. 
Then in the night a sword-blade's clanging stroke 
On brazen shield struck seven to mine ear. 
And I the meaning know, for seven 3'ears 
Have come and gone since then and I await 
This night the hour when I, Bar Enon, pass 
Into the dark beyond. But I have heard 
This eve the sign again ; the parrakeets 
Cried, Seven, seven, seven, as I passed 
The pippal tree and from its branches low 
Made answer thus the owl, So much, no more. 
And as I sat beside the porch I heard 
The clear brave strokes of steel on ringing bronze. 



BAR ENON-. 



177 



At this I wonder much ; my time has come. 
What means the marvel now ? 

The Santon said, 
Above the earth, toward the farthest void 
Are seven heavens rising one o'er one : 
And in the highest all man's heart may know 
Of blessedness is there. And he who binds 
The law unto his spirit and thereby 
Marshals his steps until his latest day 
Shall there abide forever : and he dies 
That he may enter there. So mitch, no more, 
Can any man attain. The seven strokes 
As if of steel struck idly on a shield 
Signal in lordly triumph that the end 
Of toil is near at hand. 

Bar Enon bowed 
His hoary head and him the Santon blessed 
With wav'ring words ; then went upon his way 



1 78 BAR ENON. 



Toward the wilderness. Bar Enon gazed 
Calmly upon the fields, the waters' glint 
That far in distance in the starlight shone, 
The nearer rice-fields, and the dusky height 
Of the broad mango trees. Anon, he turned 
And passed within his dwelling where the drops 
Were falling one by one to mark the space 
Of the brief hours ere yet the midnight came. 

He who from Agra northward takes his way 

May see beside the road a sepulchre 

Whose stones are worn and channeled by the winds 

Of many hundred years. Upon it falls 

The shade of pippal trees, and flowing near 

A deep well gives of water to a stream 

That seeks the jungle's edge. And if he ask 

Of some slow ryot idling in the sun. 

Whose ashes lie in yonder crumbling walls ? 

He hears the answer, There Bar Enon lies, 

A saint in the old days when men were pure 



BAR EN ON. 



179 



And holy in their lives. And if he waits 
To listen at the sunset he may hear 
The parrakeet cry shrilly and the voice 
Of the hoarse owl amid the leaves reply. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



On Ascalon the shades of even fell, 

And fell upon its slain : and where the swell 

Of wavering winds and lowly herbage bent 

There fell the fading sunlight. With it blent 

The shimmer of bright steel where disarrayed 

Lay shields and spears and many a broken blade, 

And casques and greaves and mighty corselets thrown 

Forsaken on the ground. And far and lone 

The steadfast palms their narrow shadows spread 

Along the land. The dying and the dead 

Were mingled on the field and on them there 

The cold dews fell and gathered, drear and bare 

Was all the battle plain. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. i8i 

The hosts withdrawn 
Waited anew the coming of the dawn 
That strife might come again : and higliand long 
Was borne upon the air the even song 
Of praise to Allah, and, anon the cry, 
Jerusalem is lost, made shrill reply 
On mingling breezes wafted. So, were heard 
Far wind-borne orisons where slowly stirred 
The herbage 'neath the palms : and they who lay, 
Those dying 'mid the dead, heard far away 
The voices of their faith. The ^Saracen 
Turned bruised forehead to the East and then 
Cried Allah ! Allah ! Allah ! and his face 
Grew peaceful 'mid the shadows. And apace, 
With sight thrown to the zenith, from the dust 
The Red-cross Knight spake softly and his trust 
To high Jehovah cried, Jerusalem 
Is all dishonored but Thy peace to them 
Who die for her endures ; and to his eyes 



1 82 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

There came the glory of the mornuig skies 
And cahiiness of the eve. 

Close sentinelled 
The outposts of the camps opposing held 
Their places for the night. And faint and dull 
And duller grew the clamor, and the lull 
Of dark and silence came : and gray and cold 
And heavy mists came down and in their fold 
Were dead and dying hid. Above the veil 
That shrouded all below, swam thin and pale 
The wan stars 'mid the clouds. Within the camp, 
Where lay the Christian warriors, dusk and damp 
The watch-fires smouldered low ; and by them lay 
Doffed helm and mail that from the fiery fray 
Had rest a little while. 

Where rose the smoke 
From one of these a low voice silence broke, 
A voice of warrior speaking, and its tone 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 183 

Was one of sorrow and of hope o'erthrown 
But firm and clear and fearless. For of scorn 
Was the crusader's portion who, forlorn, 
Had any thought of tears. And there intent 
Upon his words, there listened those who went 
In battle by his side. 

Of Thessalone, 
Quoth he, I was the lord and all unknown 
Was other will than mine. Now, I but hold 
Mine own this night the steed that gaunt and cold 
Grazes beside my tent ; and this, the sword 
From famed Toledo's forges, to our Lord 
Long since made consecrate ; and memory 
That bears of sorrow as the heaving sea 
Doth bear the spume of storms — 

The lurid flame 
Brightened the symbol on his shield ; and came 
To him of words responsive, tell thy tale 



1 84 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

And we will listen 'till the morning pale 
Shall call to arms again. And on him shone 
The while he spake, the light — 



By Thessalone, 
Fair city of fair France, the walls rose high 
Of a gray citadel and t'ward the sky 
Arose the staves of banners ; and afloat 
Were starry lilies on the tawny moat 
That slept beneath the tow'rs. And everywhere 
Above its depths the ivy crept, and there 
The lulling finches sang. And mossy grown 
Were the steep sloping roofs where, slanting throwr. 
The pennon's shadow waver'd. And below 
Broad turret eaves the swallows to and fro 
Winged ever hasting flight : beneath their nests 
Were lofty narrow windows whence the crests 
Of dim blue hills were seen. And, nearer laid, 
Were meads and pastures wide, and unafraid 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 185 

The falcon soared above, and far and lone 
Shrill herons cried from where the azure Rhone 
Swept swiftly through the marshes. 'Mid the rocks 
On misty hill-sides scattered, grazed the flocks 
By careful shepherds tended. At the edge 
Of the low river's bank, amid the sedge 
The cattle sought of shade, for there the sun 
Was vanquished by the brake. And gray and dun, 
Beyond the outer bastions and aloof 
From scarp and parapet, was many a roof 
Deep thatched and lowly. And between them lain 
Was many a croft where low the golden grain 
Bent 'neath the passing wind. And like the gleam 
That rippling waters make when bright the stream 
A moment meets the sunlight, was the wave 
And glimmer of the sickles. Tall and brave 
Fair poplars rose in air. 

The day a-flown 
Long, long, doth seem since lordly Thessalone 



1 86 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

So lay before mine eyes, but there hath wrought 
No change within the scene as in my thought 
I bear it through my days. 

The sickles fell 
And swept and rose again, and from the swell 
The wave and wafting of the yellow grain 
Were bright sheaves cloven down, and then again 
The gleaming of the sickles. Clear the song 
Of maidens rose behind them where along 
The lines of golden gavels, strong and lithe 
And free of limb, with voices clear and bl3^the 
They knelt to bind the sheaves. There one more fair 
Than all the rest, flung back her dusky hair 
And thrilled her tender song. Far over all, 
Warm placid summer fields and castle wall. 
The sweet words swam and floated. And I heard 
Within the lofty turret where the bird 
Scarce dared to wing its flight : and thence I gazed 
Adown and far to where the sickles raised 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 187 

Their gleam from out the grain. And saw het face 
Uplifted in the sun ; and all of grace 
In her seemed incarnate. And rhythmic still 
She sang her gentle song : — 

Sweet blows the wind, the world is fair, 

Oh, wind or harvest stay. 
The skies are blue o'erhead and there 

Brave falcons wing their way. 

Thy touch unto the waving wheat 

Hath brought its golden glow, 
And in thy breath, beside our feet. 

The crimson poppies grow. 

The hours are sweet, the hours are brief, 

And fast they haste away 
As to the sickle falls the sheaf. 

Oh, wind of harvest stay. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALOXE. 



And so the trill 
And cadence of her song unto me there, 
Was soft and lightly borne. Then on the air 
Her voice ceased in her toil. I saw the strands 
Close-wrought and twisted by her little hands 
Wind slowly round the sheaves. I saw the shade, 
Straight eastward thrown, the tow'ring poplars made 
Fall dark upon her face ; but in the sun 
Or in the shadow was there never one 
On ail the earth so fair ; and clear and sweet 
Again the song rose high. 

Sweet is thy voice. Oh, wind from far, 

Oh, wind of harvest stay. 
For farther than yon falcons are 

Hath sorrow flown to-day. 

The sunshine lies our feet beside 

And blooms are bending low. 
While borne o'er meadows far and wide 

The shadows come and go. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 189 

Sweet is the wind, and soft our song 

To while the hours away, 
Though brief the}^ be, nor biding long. 

Oh, wind of harvest stay. 

And so did beat 
My heart with longing that I thought to be 
A reaper in the fields where tenderly 
Her simple song she sang were better far 
Than was I in my lordship : and did mar 
This thought my pride of power. And all the tow'rs 
Of Thessalone seemed lonely, while the hours 
Went speedily away, and even came 
With fading gleam of sunset and the flame 
Of daylight dying softly. And so died 
That day my warrior ardor and the pride 
Of knighthood proudly worn. 

While thus he spoke 
A sound of chanting voices solemn woke 



190 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

The silence of the camp. Deep, sad, and slow 
And full of mourning 'twas, and bended low 
The warriors while they listened. Like the clang 
Of shields in cadence straken far it rang 
Yet solemn was and slow — 

Hierusalem 
Is fallen, fallen, fallen, and the Lord 

Doth give no aid to them 
Who for her sake have lifted high the sword. 

Deep in each heart 
Is sin and soilure and the Lord doth know 

Where sin doth not depart ; 
And so from Him no helping mercies flow 

His holy wrath 
Hath fallen on His children, and the scorn 

Of heathen, in their path 
Of woe doth bring through eve and night and morn. 



THE K NIGH 2' OF THE SSA LONE. 191 

For fear enthralls 
When all of faith is faint and wan and worn, 

Nor hearkens when He calls : 
And doubt doth linger in their hearts forsworn. 

In weariness 
Our Standard droops, the crozier and the blade 

Borne down in battle's stress. 
Are stricken from our hands and low are laid. 

All idly thrown 
Our prayers upon the winds ; He will not hear 

The evil hearts that mban, 
'Till sin hath gone from them, and doubt and fear. 

To him whose arm 
Is strong in faith upon to-morrow's field 

Shall come nor wrath nor harm 
'Though dead he lie beneath his shivered shield. 

And he whose soul 
Is penitent ere dawn, if so he die 



192 THE KXIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

Where battle surges roll, 
He face to face shall see the Lord on high. 

Slow sank the sound, 
Half sad and half triumphant ; all around 
Was silence deep anew ; and far and nigh 
Deep were the gray mists gathered. With a sigh. 
The knight low spake again — 

Of Thessalone 
I, the strong youth, was chieftain and had known 
No bar unto my will. So, when the shade 
Of twilight deepened into dark and laid 
Upon the earth the starlight, forth I went 
Out from the castle's portals, and besprent 
With dew were all the fields. And peaceful lay 
The outland harvest crofts, and far away 
Slow vesper bells were calling. Soon did cease 
Their mellowed sound, and all around was peace 
And silence 'neath the stars. And then the light 
In lowly dwellings ceased. So, in the night, 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



93 



Amid its calm and coolness, in my quest 

My fiery feet went on. Her maiden rest 

Not yet had fallen on her eyes when near 

She heard me 'neath the lattice. Sweet and clear 

And softly rose my voice, for I had learned 

That dulcet words may win what never earned 

The sword since time began. 

Oh, maiden, come ! the sultry sky 

Beams on the fields no more. 
And cool and sweet are paths that lie 

Beyond thy cottage door. 
Oh, maiden, come ; the dusky night 

Was made for love, and fair 
From stars descends the tender light 

That lovers* eyes may share. 

Oh, maiden, come ; on many a croft 

Sweet harvest roses blow 
Where bends the ripened wheat, and soft 

The mavis murmurs low. 



194 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



Oh, maiden, come ; 'tis love that breathe 

The bird notes softly told ; 
And in their blooms the roses wreathe 

What lovers' hearts may hold. 

Oh, maiden, come ; the hours are fond 

When love doth with them stay ; 
And blest are they whose hearts have conned 

The joyaunce of its sway. 
Oh, maiden, come ; and borne to where 

Yon castle's walls arise, 
Sweet love shall crown thee softly there 

Ere yet the starlight dies. 

Then sadly crept 
Through the high lattice voice of one who wept 
Affrighted and forlorn. With fingers strong 
I grasped the vine's firm branches and along 
The eaves crept careful. And mine evil eyes 
Beheld her as she knelt, and glad surprise 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



95 



And wild fierce joy were mine. Upon her breast 
The softened lamplight shone ; upon her hair 
Disheveled fell the ray ; and not more fair 
Are angels in high heaven than she seemed 
That hour unto mine eyes. Nor had I dreamed, 
In all my days before, that on the earth 
Was ever face so pure. Beside the hearth 
She knelt and, pleading, cried : 

Madonna, hear : 
The evil time hath come, and woe and fear 
Are fallen on my heart. Be ever near, 
Oh, sweet Madonna. So Thy child shall be 
Forever safe through Thee. 

A maiden's pray'r 
Doth pleading rise to Thee, for who shall spare 
Her all of innocence. Within Thy care 
Oh, sweet Madonna, fold her ; so shall be 
Her shelter found in Thee. 



196 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

The voice of song 
From lips unhallow'd floats, and fierce and strong 
Tiie luring tempter waits. From all of wrong 
Oh, sweet Madonna, shield ; my heart shall be 
Thus consecrate to Thee. 

And low did swerve 
Her soft and faltering voice, upon the curve 
And swell of her fair bosom slender shone 
The dim lamp's mellow'd light. And far was flown 
All pity from my heart and I would grasp 
Her beauty all my own, and in my clasp 
Make spoil of all her pureness. So, the bars 
I of the lattice brake — behold the scars 
A maiden's arm may give — the rusted brand 
Her peasant father wielded, to her hand 
Lay facile at her side. And I who rode 
A youth unbearded where in crimson flowed 
The battle tides along ; Yea ! I who won 
My spurs 'mid men gray-haired where hot the sun 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALOXE. 



97 



Shone on our slain by thousands, backward swayed 
Before a woman's smiting. Thus I laid 
Mine honor in the dust. 



When came the morn 
I from the turrets gazed and woe and scorn 
O'erflowed within my breast. I saw the field ; 
Its golden waving grain, the reapers wield 
The steel as yesterday. And fast and deft 
Did maidens bind the gavels where was cleft 
I'he harvest yield before them. ,But there bore 
Soft light blown winds no song, nor any more 
Was joyaunce in the toil. I saw her bend 
And rise again and to the gavels lend 
The yellow twisted bands. And graceful still 
As yesterday she was, but now no trill 
Came soaring from her lips ; nor did she gaze 
Toward the castle walls, until the rays 
Of sunset on them fell. 



198 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

Then sad her e5^es 
A moment turned toward me, and the skies 
Were bright with the red sunset ; slow she turned 
And went upon her way. Then flamed and burned 
Within my brain the thought, the eye doth seek 
The place where is the heart, and mild and meek 
Her soul doth pardon me, and so, I said, 
Shall patience win at last. 

The harvest fled 
And with it fled the glamour of the sun 
At ending of the day, and drear and dun 
Were all the stubble fields, while shrill and harsh 
The wild hawk screamed in air. Within the marsh 
Dark sullen waters rose, for now the rain 
Fell heavy on the land and so the plain 
Would drink of it no more. At last, one eve, 
High river banks were bursten, and did grieve 
The peasants for their homes. And where she dwelt, 
Aye, high above the hearthstone where she knelt 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. i 



99 



What time I crept anear, the angry flow 
Of seething waters rose, and faint and low 
Her voice cried o'er the waves. 

The deluge reared 
Thin crests of foam upon it and afeared 
Were all to venture forth. Like islets lay 
The roofs above the waters — ere the day 
Did dawn again nor thatch or roof -tree broke 
The level of the floods — Then I awoke, 
Hearing her distant cry, to all my thought 
Had ever known of valor, and I ^brought 
The charger from the stall, and stately borne 
Rode forth into the storm, of armor shorn 
And helm and shield, and ere the bridge was past 
We swam the floods together, till at last 
Within my arms she lay. And through the veil 
Of mist that covered all, through sigh and wail 
Of tempest wind and wave, the charger bore 
Us t'ward the castle walls until once more 



200 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALOXE. 

He strode within tlie gates. Then many days 
Did bring to me the tribute of the praise 
That shone in her soft eyes, for gently toned 
Was all my guarded speech and I had owned 
My penitence to her. 

As 'mid the brake 
Are fowler's nets deep hidden and doth wake 
The fowler's tread no sound, so round her there 
I spread my luring w'iles with crafty care, 
And watched her day by day. Not overmuch 
I said to her, but at the softest touch 
Her gentle spirit gave I answered still 
As if the world to me of wrong or ill 
(iave not of knowledge. And the time away 
Fled fast on silent wings, and day by day 
Her pure face fairer grew and in her thought 
Was naught but innocence. From this there wrought 
A sudden change within me, and there came 
To me a weight of sorrow and of shame 



THE K.VIG/IT OF THESSALONE. 20 1 

For guilt that I had meant. To her unknown 
Were all the snares I laid, and when o'erthrown 
AV'as all my evil purpose, true and fond 
Went forth my heart to her. 



When slow beyond 
Dim farther limits of the fields there shrank 
The waters to their place below the bank 
With reeds and willows clad : when to the plain 
Came vesture new of verdure, and the rain 
Nurtured of blooms anew : when toiling hands 
Rebuilt the ruined hamlet, and the lands 
Brown sowers trod amain and deftly cast 
The broad-thrown seeding there : when far and past 
Was all the tempest's sorrow, forth we gazed, 
Yea, she and I, from where the turret raised 
Its gray wall t'ward the skies. Upon her hair 
The spring-tide sunshine lay, and bright and fair 



202 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

It kindled on her cheek ; and in her eyes 
A calm lay softer than the light that lies 
In placid lakes at noon. 

And then unfold 
Did all my heart toward her, and I told 
The love I bore for her. 

The priest shall bless 
Our marriage morn, I said, nor sound nor stress 
Of storm shall touch thee more. A sacrament 
Our love shall be unto us, and content 
Shall brood within our hearts. The years shall go 
And other 3^ears shall come, and on their flow 
Love shall be borne to us. Of answering 
She spake no word, but sudden joy did bring 
Mine answer in her face. And unafraid 
She gave her lips to mine and restful laid 
Her forehead on my breast. 



THE KNIGHT OF THE SS A LONE. 



203 



The while I spoke 
Dark distant clouds had gathered and awoke 
The thunder in the sky ; and then the light 
Grew dim below the clouds as if the night 
Had fallen all too soon. And gray and black 
And dusk and dark were mingled in the wrack 
Of sullen drifting skies. Then, like the sword 
That flashed at Eden's gate what time the Lord 
Bid joy and hope depart, the lightning drave 
In flame across the darkness. Slow did wave 
My pennons on the turrets ; on my breast 
Her fair head gently lay, while in the west 
I watched the tempest wake. A sudden stroke 
In zig-zag flame from out its breast there broke 
And filled the air with fire, and all the world 
Seemed shaken to its doom. Far from me hurled 
She lay in her pale beauty ; and the storm 
Grew faint and fainter, 'till upon her form 
The gleaming starlight shone. 



204 THE KNIGHT OF THE SSA LONE. 



Of Thessalone 
Came all the people forth and far their moan 
Rose soughing on the air. The warders wept, 
Who yester-eve where buoyantly she stept 
Had swung the brazen gates ; and henchmen doffed 
Their helmets as they gazed, and low and oft 
Came sound of sobbing from them ; and beside 
The women knelt in wailing ; far and wide 
Went the sad tidings. From the cloister gray 
The veiled nuns came softly and there lay 
Deep sorrow on their lips. The reapers came 
Who cleft the grain before her, and her name 
They whispered sad and low. And calmly there 
She lay in the dim starlight, sweet and fair, 
In her white raiment folden — 

Shrill, a blast 
Rang o'er the camp, from warning trumpet cast 
In herald of the dawn. The chargers neighed 
Responsive to its voice ; and all affrayed 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



205 



The brooding silence was, a broken roar 

As if of waves upon a distant shore, 

Filled all the dark with sound. As if was heard 

No murmur save his voice, no warrior stirred 

Who listened to the knight : — 

We laid her where 
She bound the sheaves in harvest. Sadly there 
We raised a cairn above her, and around 
Each day the verdure deepen 'd and the ground 
Was hidden by its growth : and beni; and swayed 
Before the wind each growing spire and blade 
As grew they yester-year. At last the wheat 
Grew sere and yellow and the sun did meet 
The harvest come anew. And from the time 
We built the cairn above her till the rime 
Of earliest frost drew near, I, from the tow'r 
Gazed outward day by day ; and hour by hour 
My thought was but of her. 



2o6 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

Until, one day, 
Came pilgrims to my gates in coarse array 
And worn and travel-stained. Behold ! they said, 
Doth lord of Thessalone with drooping head 
Sit like a craven here. A woman's smile 
Was sweet on this sad earth, but shall beguile 
More sweet thy sorrow when thy soul shall rise 
To God's high presence from the field where lies 
Whoso hath died for Him. Aye, love is sweet. 
We pilgrims in our youth did know, and meet 
It is for Heaven's guerdon. Not to him 
Who loiters by the way, and faint and dim 
Beholds the Master's sign, shall love be known 
In all its pureness by the crystal throne 
Of Him who rules on high. The battle cries 
Are drifting from the hill tops and arise 
From depths of deepest vales, yet idly here 
Thou sinkest in thy woe ; and sword and spear 
Are rusting in thy halls. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 



207 



I answered then, 
I know not holy things, but unto men 
Speak I in faith and honor. Tell to me 
Oh ! Ye in saintly guise, may her I see 
Again, in verity ? And calm they spake 
Yea ! Draw thy sword for Him and it shall wake 
This mercy unto thee. 

And Thessalone 
Lay many a league behind me ere there shone 
The morrow's morn upon it. Yea, I came 
Through marsh and fen, and through the drifting flame 
Of far-blown desert sands, and with ye wait, 
Oh ! Brothers mine, the dawn when all the hate 
The heathen bear shall perish 'neath the stroke 
Of knightly wielded swords. 

The curling smoke 
From dying camp-fires waver'd as the sun 
Beamed sudden o'er the mists, and so was done 
The gentle truce of night. 



2o8 THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 

The cymbal's clang 
And shawms' shrill sound upon the mormng rang, 
With cries of, Allah, Allah, and there gleamed. 
Seen through the mists where surging horsemen 

streamed 
In order broad and bright, the crescent's blaze 
From burnished silver thrown that through the haze 
And cloud rode fair and high. And spearmen clove 
The reeking mists aside ; and vengeful drove 
In gleam and shade, and light, and sombre gray 
The Moslem squadrons on their onward way 
In boastfulness and pride. 

And rank'd anew 
In stately guise the Christian warriors threw 
Their Standards to the breeze : and axe and spear 
And falchion drawn in haste, while drew anear 
The onset of the foe, gleamed bright along 
Broad edges of the plain. 



THE KNIGHT OF THESSALONE. 209 



The shawms' clear blast 
Defied the Christian trumpets. Fierce and fast 
Came Moslem squadrons on, and fiercer still 
The Red-cross onset fell : and wild and shrill 
Host answered unto host, and dark the sky 
Was with the storm of arrows : borne on high 
The crozier met the crescent, and the way 
Each charger trod was bright with drift and sway 
Of cimetars and swords, and lances thrust 
From mailed arms upraised, and in the dust 
Rolled Saracen and Knight : so from the dawn 
Until the last rays of the sun were gone 
The tide of battle flowed, till, bruised and shorn 
Of all his pomp of morning, backward borne 
The Moslem fled the field. 

When chill there laid 
Upon the trodden herbage dew and shade 
In the new fallen night, upon the face 
Of him of Thessalone was peace and grace 



2IO THE KNIGHT OF THE SSA LONE. 

And death and innocence. Above the slain, 
As yester-eve, rose soft and sweet the strain 
From voices chanting slow: — Yea, he whose sword 
Was drawn this day for Him, the Holy Lord 
Shall bless him though he die, and he shall own 
All that his heart hath cherish'd. Dim and lone 
High slender palm trees sway'd, and pale and wan 
The starlight shone on hoary Ascalon. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



Otsego's hills are fair, and he whose way 

Lies through the vales between, by winding streams- 

Will see the lithe maize bend, the cattle graze 

In low green intervales, and in the shade. 

The wide-branch'd maple gives, will see the flocks 

Contented lie at noon. And if he wend 

In that of cherries called will there behold 

A creek most sinuous of all that flow 

'Mid level banks along. And from the meads 

Will see of sloping fields, that bright and broad 

Reach upward on the hills where waves the grain 

With changing tint of verdure as the winds 

Sweep low with varying stress : and orchards dark 



212 CHERRY VALLEY. 

With promise of the Fall, and fallows dun 
New cloven by the plow, and dwellings fair 
With thrift of tillage born. And if he look 
Along the roads' gray length will see the spires 
That mark the village fanes ; and everywhere 
Behold but peace and plenty and the calm 
Of safety and content. 

Not thus the scene 
Broke on the sight of those who long ago 
From out the Mohawk valley took their way 
Through gloom of hemlock forests and a stream, 
Canajoharie called, with fearless feet 
Far followed to its source, and 'twixt the hills 
Found the clear springs wherein its waters rose. 
And then beholding the low curve that lay 
Inverted 'gainst the sky, of waving boughs. 
That marked the summits of the forest knew 
Their highest path was reached and far beyond 
Another stream ran southward. So they went 



CHERRY VALLEY. 213 



And found its bending- ripples, gleaming- clear 

In rays that shone between the arching boughs 

Where wide along its banks low level lands 

Lay sheltered 'mid the hills, while all around 

Was reach of hoary forests ; and the cry 

Of startled wolves came far upon the winds, 

The deer sprang through the coverts, and the birds 

Unfearing sang anear : with lulling sound 

And sweet in the bright noontide plash'd the stream 

Along its willow'd marge. The partridge heard 

Their alien footsteps and her nestling brood 

Was hidden 'neath the leaves. Across the brook 

Their shadows darkly fell and fast the trout 

Sought shelter in the crevice and the cleft 

Along its grassy edge. Far overhead 

Broad winged and gray and buoyantly the hawk 

Swam spiral to the clouds. From where they trod 

The crushed white violet on the mountain air 

Flung sweetest fragrance forth. There as they paused 



214 CHERRY VALLEY. 

Ill this their new-found land and marked the space 
Within the compass of the hills and conned 
The place for byre and dwelling, all around 
A sudden dark there fell as if the eve 
Had unforewarning come, and from the sky 
There came the whirr and rustle of the wings 
Of swarms of wild doves flying ; and anon 
They saw the flocks receding, and again 
The blue sky darken'd with them. High and dark 
Were frowning hemlocks on the hills around, 
And in the vale the great rock-maples threw 
Their sturdy arms abroad, and there the shafts 
Of slender beeches rose ; there birches drooped 
Their thin and trembling leaves and there the fruit 
The wild black-cherry branches bore was bright 
And ripening in the sun. And when they cleared 
With ready axe a space for camp and fire 
The strokes unwonted from the depths awoke 
Fierce forest denizens. Upon the wind 



CHERRY VALLEY. 215 

The panther's shriek re-echoed and the cry 
Of wolves redoubled, and the red fox crept 
With furtive step beside them, and afar 
The night-hawk's voice rose sorrowful and shrill, 
While low the owl her muffled wailing threw 
Along the leafy aisles. 

The branches dry 
That storms had thrown upon the ground, the heart 
Of the red beech, and resinous knots withdrawn 
From giant trunks long fallen to decay 
Were heap'd within the clearing, and beneath 
The pile were laid of splinters thin and sere 
Cleft from the fragments of a lordly shaft 
Long since by lightning broken. Then the fire, 
Flashed from a firelock careful holden, gave 
A tiny flame that nursed by gentle breath 
Grew strong and stronger 'till its dusky light 
Changed into yellow spires that rose and swayed 
And turned to deepened red 'till all their glow 



2l6 CHERRY VALLEY. 

To Steadfast embers fell And frugal fare 
By woodland craft made pleasant broke the fast 
Of all the long days' journey. By their side 
The rifle-barrels gleamed where shone the light : 
And watchful turned their gaze to where the wind 
Sway'd boughs beyond the thicket with a sound 
That seemed the falling of slow stealthy feet 
Upon the withered leaves. 

Then when the lids 
Of tired eyes were heavy, ere they slept 
There rose among them one whose forehead bore 
The wrinkles of stern years, with clasped hands 
And rev'rent tone he spake while by him bowed 
The heads of strong men were, and maidens knelt, 
And mothers folded close with fond embrace 
The children at their knee, while silently 
Above them swam the gray clouds, and the boughs 
Were soughing slow and soft, and on them fell 
The camp-fire's kindly light. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 217 

Oh ! Thou who led 
O'er Sinai's barren wastes, Thy people on 
To the fair land of promise, and whose arm 
In these our later days the wrath of storms 
Hath stayed the while o'er all the ocean wastes 
We journeyed to this land, unto our cry 
Give heed, and hearken : for Thy children come 
Alone and weak in this far wilderness, 
Thridding the rivers from far-sounding shores 
Until their waters mingle with the streams 
That come from mountain vales, and at their founts 
Proclaim Thy holy name : grant by each hearth 
We kindle in these wilds, that safety come 
And peace and blessedness because that Thou 
Art watchful over us. Yea ! Let our toil 
Bear fruitage to our children so that fair 
May harvests brighten where these deep woods hide 
The sunshine from the loam. And where the cries 
Of wild beasts drift upon the twilight air 
Let silence come at eve save where the somr 



2i8 CHERRY VALLEY. 

Of praise to Thee shall rise. And with us be 
Oh ! Infinite Father : in the evil days 
Of sorrow and of wrath forsake us not, 
For round about the foemen dwell and near 
The pestilence doth creep, and famine comes 
Amid the forests depths unless Thy care 
Doth bless the tillers' toil. Give unto us, 
Oh ! Thou that to our fathers long ago 
Wast shield and shelter, all the freeman's trust. 
The freeman's valor and the freeman's strength. 
So when yon stars shall shrivel in the gloom 
Of Thy last judgment morning, on these hills 
And in these valleyc shall there none arise 
Save freemen, in Thy sight. And unto Thee 
All glory be. Amen. 

With ready skill 
They made them couches of the hemlock boughs 
From the dwarfed thicket cloven, and deep sleep, 
The sleep of wearied ones, came softly then 



CHERRY VALLEY. 219 



Unto their drooping lids. To guard their rest 
Bold watchdogs lay beside them with keen eyes 
Striving to pierce the dark. 

Yet when there fell 
The stillness of the midnight on the wild, 
No sound the watchdogs heard of stealthy step 
That softly drew anear ; so crafty 'twas 
No branch bent where it passed, no leaf was stirred 
To break the somber silence. Then there gazed 
From out the thicket one with gleaming eye 
And darksome face and sinewy hand that held 
A firelock in its grasp ; and over all 
His features dun was wrath and vengefulness 
And scorn and fear and hatred. And he spoke, 
But yet so low no murmur on the air 
The waiting watchers heard : — 

He comes : He cleaves 
The fair woods from the land. The pale face comes, 



CHEKKY r ALLEY. 



And soon the deer are frightened from the vales. 

The brave elk shuns the hills, the fishes hide 

And scanty yield unto our ruder craft 

The harvest of the streams. Where keen his axe 

Hath passed along the ground no more may rise 

The wigwam in the shade. Our council fire 

Grows dim where lies his hearthstone ; like the maize 

When frost hath touched its tassels, all our strength 

Doth droop and wither where his breath doth touch 

The free, far blowing winds. So ! may he die 

The stranger in our home, his roof-tree fall 

In smoke and flame, his children borne away 

^lake mirth in torment for us, and our hands 

Be crimson'd from his veins. 

Thus slowly spake 
Scheneva famed along the Mohawk's side 
And far Schoharie's banks and by the streams 
That fed their flowing strength. Lithe, stern and 
fierce 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



He was in his young manhood, and his gaze 
Was Uke the panther's, flaming when the dark 
Hides all the woodland pathways. Soon he went 
As silent as he came and they knew not, 
The sleepers, of his hate. 

Two score of years 
Of fruitful harvests and of mountain snows 
Passed over the fair valley, and the woods 
Upon its level land were changed to fields 
Where pleasant dwellings were. Oft where the kine 
Grazed peaceful in the clearings, there the deer 
Came guileless from the hills and careless fed 
In the thin summer pastures. All along 
The winding banks the broad wild cherry bore 
Its yield of sable fruitage, and its name 
Was given to the vale. And children there 
Were born and grew to strength, and from afar 
Came kindred unto those who in the night. 
Asleep beside their camp-fire, in his wrath 



2 22 CHERRY VALLEY. 

Scheneva's eye beheld, and with them stayed, 
And dwelUngs builded there. 

But fearsomely 
In the new later days came sounds of strife 
And warfare from the seaboard ; of the thrall 
Of sword and bayonet : of Lexington 
Fierce foughten in the dawn, and of the bridge 
O'er Concord's meadow stream, and many a field 
Where king's-men bit the dust. But faint and far 
Seemed all the storm of battle, for the vale 
Amid the forests wide was hidden deep 
From trodden ways of men. 

The clearings bore 
The thrift of sturdy maize ; the gleam of wheat 
Was mingled with the shadows that the woods 
Flung far athwart from the red morning sun : 
And from the ground late broken, on the air 
The buckwheat's perfume floated and like snow 



CHERRY VALLEY. 223 



Its blossoms clad the fields ; the springing rye 
Upon the loam new sown in tender spires 
Flickered where passed the wind, and on each roof 
Lay wealth of August sunshine. Fierce and low 
Red fallow fires gleamed where the axe had strewn 
The pride of the wild forest, and their smoke 
Lay light upon the air, and scattered far 
Made gray and wafting haze against the sky 
That cloudless was above. 

On such a morn, 
Ere yet the dews were risen from the fields, 
While still the morning-glory's silken blooms 
Trailed bright beside the paths, a stripling came 
Fleet-footed through the woods, and far and near 
To field and dwelling the wild tidings ran 
Of this, the tale he told : 

I dwelt anear 
The slopes of Bunker Hill. Within our streets, 



2 24 CHERRY VALLEY. 

That led into fair fields, the voice of men 
Grew wrathful everywhere, and at each eve 
Our people gathered, and each day more dark 
Their faces seemed to me ; and oft they told 
That freemen were their fathers in old days 
And they were freemen still within the land 
The Lord had given in the wilderness. 
And soon, each day upon the summer air 
I heard the shrill fife's screaming, and the drum 
Made livelong holiday, and filing past 
Our dwelling to its strokes the crimson ranks 
Of king's-men proudly trod, and at the sight 
Each watching eye in sullen anger blazed; 
At last, one morn : — 

When restless dark was done 
I saw my father from his couch arise, 
And from our windows take the lead that bore 
Their weight when lifted high. Then by our hearth 
He knelt, and bullets moulded, one by one, 



CHERRY VALLEY. 225 

With slow and skilful care. My brothers threw 
Their belts across their shoulders : from the walls 
Their powder-horns they grasped, and fleeting sped 
Toward the grassy slopes. And I had naught 
Of firelock or of sword, and so beside 
A neighb'ring wood I stayed. 

Along the height 
There ran the earthwork's ridge ; beside its front 
Was clear low-lying land, and far the sea 
Shone blue in the bright sunrise. And I saw 
My father's rifle glance amid the troop 
Upon the summit, and my heart was proud : 
I saw my brothers aim, and all my heart 
Stood still the while I watched to see the foe 
Fall 'neath their bullets sped. Then soon there broke 
The uproar of fierce battle and the lines 
Of crimson king's-men climbed and fell away 
Before the rattling volleys, and again 



226 CHERRY VALLEY. 

Returned and climbed the slope and backward rolled 
Before the rifles' hail. Then 'mid the smoke 
I saw the last fierce struggle, hand to hand 
And blade to blade it was, and as the mist 
Fades in the dark of night the battle failed 
Slow fading from my sight, for he, my sire, 
And they, my brothers, from mine eyes were hid 
In fury of the fight. 

And they are gone 
My brothers and my sire : our hearth is cold. 
And threefold winters to the hills have come 
While I have wandered westward, through the fields 
Beyond Schoharie's banks, and o'er the heights 
That bound the source of fierce Scheneva's stream, 
And follow'd from its waters this the brook. 
That flows beside thy dwellings. Everywhere 
Is cry of slaughter and the sound of woe 
Where king's-men march or Mohawks stealthy tread. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 227 



And I have come in warning, guard thy fields, 
Thy homes and those ye love, thy rifles' aim 
Alone is shield to ye. 

As lithe he stood, 
With gray eyes flashing, all his earnest words 
Sank deep into their thought, but speedy spoke 
An Indian, mocking, who unseen had come 
And silent from the woods. Shall pale face fear 
While his red brother watches where he dwells 
To shelter him from evil, we have shared 
The bounty of the wilderness, and now 
Shall we lift hands in strife ? 

The fiery youth 
Gave fiery answer back, and soon enlocked 
In angry wrestling, flung the Mohawk down 
Upon the trodden sod. Then jest and jeer 
Greeted the red man as he sullen rose 
And sought the woods again. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



The warm winds play 
Full many an autumn on these northern hills 
Where summer seems to linger with the sun 
'Mid breath of ripen 'd leaves : and 'mid the haze 
Low clouded on the slopes to sink to sleep 
With gentle warning, but that year no glow 
Of Indian Summer lingered on the woods 
Or softened the fierce stroke of sullen storms 
That swept the naked clearings 'till remained, 
Save in the woodland edges, naught of all 
The harvest's yellow haulm. November's gloom 
Found all the valley as the sultry suns 
That summer knew had found : for everywhere 
Was fear and doubt yet everywhere they said : — 
We sheltered in the woods may safety know 
From battles' wrath and wreck. 

From the hot noons 
In lazy August that the maize had turned 
To lusty growth and strong, until the husk 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



229 



Was crisp and white upon the thrifty ear, 
Within the vale dwelt Amzah, he who bore 
In the late summer days from v/ays afar 
The warning of the war. He lingered there 
No longer restless with the fervor born 
Of forest wandering. 

When hoar his head 
As ever white frost on the autumn boughs 
He spake of this the morning of his da3^s, 
When love came first to him, and of the calm, 
The joyous strength that then his spirit knew 
Ere yet the woe befell. 

No vague unrest 
Was his the while he listened in the dusk. 
Deep in the forest glades, to hear the sound 
Of tinkling bells that told where stepped the kine 
Browsing the low grown bushes : and no more 
He sought from sunrise 'till the dark was come 



230 CHERRY VALLEY. 

To trail the panther or with trusty aim 
On long bright-barrel'd rifle, from the top 
Of the high hemlock bring the fierce hawk clown. 
Nor cared he more upon the wooded slopes 
To lure the deer with cunning sounded call 
From shelter of the dells. But in the round 
Of daily labor went with silent heart 
And pleasant eyes and soft, and to his hand 
** AH toil seemed lightly done. 



On Jeanie's heart 
The Infmite Father's noblest blessing fell 
Of sweet content and innocence of guife 
And purity of thought ; and tenderness 
For all things meek and lowly, for the bird 
That chirped and shiver'd by the closed door 
Amid the blasts of winter, for the bee 
That shriveled in his flight athwart the blaze 
Of dancing fallow fires, yea ! for the fox 



CHERRY VALLEY. 231 



That glided thro' the thickets while the dogs 
Were following eager, and for all that knew 
Of anguish or of sorrow. And her face 
Bore seal of all His grace who leadeth on 
To everlasting peace, but on her brow 
On lip and cheek of earthly beauty lay 
But little guerdon, and she smiled to hear 
The homely jests her homely features called 
From rude but kindly lips. For they who know 
The peace of Heaven turn with softened words 
All bitterness aside, and Amzah saw 
In her brown eyes the soul. 

And when the moon 
Swam white and distant in November's skies 
Flooding the bleak fields and from naked boughs 
Casting dulled shadows,— when the night-hawk's wai 
Was sad upon the air, when soughing low 
The west wind swept about them, lingered they 
Behind the rest who came with solemn steps 



2^2 CHERRY VALLEY: 

Forth from the place of prayer, and sweet and low, 
For 30 love's words are spoken, each to each 
Betrothal promise gave. 

From light to shade 
And from the shadow into light they came. 
Slow wending on their way. Her mother saw 
And knew the token of the hearts that beat 
In loving unison and o'er her face 
Swept sign of troubled thought ; for she had knowr. 
In Scotland's vales the wraith come slowly forth 
From gray of gloaming, when the doom drew near 
To those who knew it not : and she had heard 
On Erin's cliffs that northward look to sea 
The banshee shrilly crying. When they stept 
Hand linked in hand before her, sad she said 
I would that which ye will could be, but so 
It seemeth not to me : when Amzah bent 
Above thy shoulder, daughter, on thy form 
A misty shroud seemed winding, and my sight 



CHERRY VALLEY. 233 



Grew dim thereat, and then o'er Amzah's head 
Was whirl of clouds as if of sudden storm 
And drift of wrecking winds, and then the light 
Of moon and stars was clear again and all 
The white fields slept beneath it. 

Calm as these, 
Quoth Jeanie as she smiled, mine heart shall be 
If death be drawing near ; He knoweth best 
Who gave us life and love : while love doth bless 
Let life itself be sweet, of fear devoid 
Of what may come to-morrow. Then they turned 
And loitered slow to where her dwelling stood 
Half shaded by the boughs the maple threw 
From the high forest's edge. Ere parted they 
Beside the cottage door he told the tale 
Of what he willed to do. 

I came, he said. 
Along the stream of fierce Scheneva called : 



234 CHERRY VALLEY. 

I saw the elk drink at the forks where comes 

The tribute of new waters, and anon 

Saw flowing from the north a gentle rill 

Wherein the trout swam fearless, and whose banks 

Gave shelter to the whirring broods that quick 

The frightened partridge hides, and idly then 

I went toward its source. The afternoon 

Shone lazy through the branches ; overhead 

The blue sky cloudless bent, at last I came 

To where a greening space before me lay 

Decked wide with summer blooms and swaying grass 

More tender than doth grow where sweep the winds 

Upon the gusty hills. And leaving this 

I met the fall of waters : rippling down 

From crag to crag they were, and everywhere 

Was dusk of the close branches, and the moss 

Grew on the sloping banks, beneath my feet 

The ferns were bright and lissom, and the gray 

And dun of the high rocks rose gloomily 



CHERRY VALLEY. 235 

Beside the gleaming waters. Lo ! I cried, 
'Tis sweet and fair and holy. Silence dwells 
Within this place save evermore the flow 
Of peaceful waters' sound : and murmurs come 
That winds send from the uplands with the tone 
Of voices fading far. 

I climbed the cliffs 
And backward gazing saw the waters leap 
From rocky shelf to shelf and foaming white 
Plash on to woods below. And, westward, high 
The steep hill rose to view with he^mlocks crowned ; 
And northward all was forest dark and gray 
Of hoary hemlocks and of pines that show'd 
Green summits high above, but t'ward the east 
The woods were lower and their foliage light 
Was of the maple and of beechen trees 
Half grown and thrifty. And beyond the bank 
That westward sloped unto the rippling stream 
I eastward clambered 'till of level land 



236 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



There opened a field's space, east, west and south 

Bordered by glens wherein no sunshine lay 

Save in the blaze of noon. The storms had swept 

In some old time the lofty hemlocks down 

And broken the strong pines, and wreck'd and dry 

Were they while thick between was sturdy youth 

Of the new growth of maple and of beech 

And elm and poplar that the woodman scorns 

As all too easy hewn. There will I go ; 

There cleave the saplings and their branches strew 

Upon the hoary trunks. And when the sun, 

Anolher summer brings, makes crisp and sere 

The burden of the ground, the fires will glow 

O'er all the field, and in the aiitumn time 

Will be the sowing for the after year. 

And we will dwell beside the stream and there 

Will pass our years contented 'till the end 

In ajre shall come to us. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 237 

His spirit kenned 
Slight dalliance 'twixt thought and act whereto 
The thought would lead him on. And in the morn 
With axe close belted to his side, and hand . 
Grasping the rifle's stock he southward strode 
Until where Crumhorn cleft doth eastward show 
A defile through the hills, he passed, and then 
Turning and climbing still t'ward where the sun 
Rose higher in the skies, he passed and so, 
Ere noontide reached the dell and soon his axe 
Rang muffled o'er its depths. 

A week was past 
And still he labored though the early snow 
Fell thin upon the woods and o'er the reach 
Of the clear space his cleaving axe had made, 
Until one morn he from rude slumber rose 
But e'er could toil renew, from all around 
And near and far the crying crows he heard 
As fleet they northward winged ; and high ar.d fast 



238 CHERRY VALLEY. 

He saw their black wings waving in the air 
As on their way they sped. 

The woodman's craft 
Hath little need of time : he knows the ways 
Of all that tread the forest or that cleave 
Their winged way in air, their thoughts are his 
For else companionless were many a day 
Of watch and toil to him. When Amzah saw 
The sable birds fast flying, where, he cried 
Are slain that lie uncovered, there their prey 
The crows are seeking now. Then he their flight 
Watched closer still and pondering on the path 
Whereby he came, he cried, the vale they seek 
Where Jeanie dwells, and there was fear through days 
And months already flown. Then leaving axe 
Firm in the thrifty beech he speeding went 
Along the way he came. 

The thin snow lay 
Half melted on the boughs, and on the ground 



CHERRY VALLEY, 



'39 



Cumbered his hasting feet as toilfully 

He crossed the mountain ridge and trod the banks 

Of Cherry Valley's stream. And far was waned 

The leaden afternoon when to his eye 

There broke the sight of mould'ring fires where low 

The ruined village lay : there by the doors 

Swung idly in the wind, he saw the stains 

Lie crimson on the thresholds ; on his way 

He saw remembered faces with the chill 

And damp of death upon them : hoary there 

The grandsire weltered, and the infant lay 

Peaceful in earth's last sleep : the rugged form 

Of manhood felt the northwind on its breast 

Nor waked to meet its coming. On he trod 

As treads the panther when afar it hears 

Its young cry from the lair. 

Nor knew nor told 
He in the after days the flight of hours 
From the first moment till they found him there 



240 CHERRY VALLEY. 



Who from the stockade came to seek the slain 

For rites of sepulture. He saw her lie 

Her forehead cloven and her hands firm clenched 

In her last agony. Above her swayed 

Low soughing maple branches, all around 

The trodden snow gave token of the flight, 

And vengeful following and deadly stroke 

And triumph of the foe. And stunned and worn 

He recked not of the time until the night 

With slow descending rain came cold and dark 

Upon the harried vale. They bid him come 

Who bore her t'ward the fort, but answering not 

He turned and sought the uplands where the smoke 

As from a camp-fire rose amid the woods 

That clad the sombre hills. 

Within a space 
Cleared from the tangled copse the leaping blaze 
Broke buoyant through the heavy air ; and shone 
Within its light the dripping boughs, and high 



CHERRY VALLEY. 241 



In cloud and flame amid the towr'ing shafts 
Of mighty trees around rose in the dark 
And sadness of the forest. By it stood 
Scheneva stalwart 'neath the weight of years, 
The last of all the chieftains who had held 
Sway o'er the land ere yet the pale face came, 
With painted visage and with high plume crowned 
Torn from the eagle's wing ; and from his belt 
Hung auburn locks the lover's hand had stroked 
In dalliance sweet and soft. And silent there 
Around him were his men the while he spoke 
In exultation loud : — 

I saw them come ; 
I saw the first oaks tremble 'neath the stroke 
Their mighty axes gave, I saw the blaze 
They kindled in the night. Their dogs I saw 
Watch for the red man's coming : many a snow 
Hath fallen here and melted in the suns 
That warmed the corn-fields for the sprouting seed 



242 CHERRY VALLEY. 

And many a harvest to their hands hath brought 
The fruitage of our land : and I have watched 
And waited while they throve. 

In glee they told 
Scheneva died and lay beneath the sedge 
Where joining waters flow, — that on his breast 
The river sand was spread, and little kenned 
I went on secret paths and in our tribes 
Kindled the fires of vengeance and of hope 
To blaze in wrath anew. 

The Manitou 
Was angry with his children and the cry 
He heard not from our wigwams, yet he saw 
His people fading from the wilds he gave 
To be their heritage ; now he hath heard 
And now his will is done. The moss will creep 
Upon their hearthstones and the rain will fall 
Unheeded where they slept. The wind will drift 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



243 



The ashes of their homes and darker there 
Shall grow the night-shade, and the adder-tongue 
Spring stronger from the ground. And where they 

drave 
Their alien ploughshares shall the fox abide 
And wolves shall cry forever : and our sons 
Shall chase the deer unknowing that there dwelt 
The pale face in our land. 

From those around 
Came vengeful cry responsive, and again 
Scheneva spoke and then anon there rose 
Again triumphant answer. Through the hours 
Had Amzah waited where the thicket grew 
In dark and lusty breadth, and to his ear 
Came all their fierce rejoicing. As the fox 
Lies lone and silent while the hunters pass 
So lay he in its gloom while on him fell 
The ling'ring rain, and close beside him crept 



244 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



The fearing partridge and its shelter sought 
Unkenning he was there. 



When dark to gray 
Of early morning changed, the chieftain cried, 
Go seek the northern dwellings, I will go 
And rouse the Mohawks on Schoharie's bounds 
To vengeance deeper still ; and when the moon 
Hath changed again meet me where yonder stream 
Doth join my river's flow. The war-whoop rose 
Afar triumphant as they went their way 
The while Scheneva by the waning fire 
A moment lingered. But before their tread 
Upon the leaves in silence died he threw 
His firelock on his shoulder and his way 
Made speedy t'ward the south. 

As glides the lynx 
Through crevices of rock so through the maze 
The Indian followed in the tangled woods, 



CHERRY VALLEY. 245 



Did Amzah glide behind him. But the stems 

The undergrowth and sapHngs broke the Hne 

Of straight clear sight wherein a bullet sped 

Could smite the speeding chief. The trail w:is vain 

Along the mountain's foot and through the cleft 

Of Crumhorn's massive side, across the hill 

And down its slope to where the waters flowed 

In the deep gorge above whose rugged bank 

There lay the level space where Amzah's axe 

In cloven beech had stayed. 

Sclieneva strode 
With proud high gaze, no younger chieftain bore 
Such haughty front, and on his face there lay 
A lofty smile, and confident his step 
As in his lusty youth. Adown the steep 
He sprang and where the water-maples bent 
White o'er the icy stream he leaped its flow 
And reached its farther side. Descending then 
Along its edge he neared the waterfall 



246 CHERRY VALLEY. 

And clinging to low branches downward crept, 
The waters plashing near. 



Midway there lies 
Between the highest and the nether rocks 
A level pool deep shaded with, above, 
Cascading white, the waters, and below 
The foam and ripple where their volume rolls 
To deeper shelving crags, on either side 
High steeps that hold the birches' slender shafts, 
Dwarfed beechen stems and twisted elms that bear 
The anger of the storms ; Scheneva paused 
And sheltered in the dell in restfulness 
Leaned idle on his firelock. Long had ceased 
The chill, thin-falling rain : the broken clouds 
Were drifting eastward in the cold gray skies 
And the dulled winter sun in gleam and ghnt 
Shone on tlic rippling pool, and glanced and swam 
Where o'er the cliffs the waters foamed and fell 



CHERRY VALLEY. 247 

And murmured on their way ; and silent there 
The last of Mohawk chieftains watched the grace 
And glamour of their tide. 

With stealthy tread 
And careful, Amzah trod ; above the fall 
He knelt and waited till the sunlight shone 
With sudden splendor on Scheneva's head 
Through the o'er-arching trees. The whistling cry 
The mountain hawk gives when to upper air 
It wings its hasting flight, from Amzah's lips 
Swept shrilly on the winds. Scheneva turned 
And upward gazed ; — 

And crashing through the wild 
Rang forth the rifle's blast and echoing far 
Returned and rang again. The chieftain fell, 
And rose, and headlong far adown the crags 
Plunged to the depths beneath. O'er Amzah sway'd 
The faint gray powder-smoke, then craftily 
He crept adown the glen. 



248 CHERRY VALLEY. 



Scheneva lay 
Below the nether fall, and crimson thence 
The swelling brook flowed fast. His sable hair 
Moved with the ripples, and his idle hands 
Rose slow and fell as rose and fell the stream 
With ever varying stress, and stern his eyes 
And awful in their dimness seemed to gaze 
Upon the drifting sky. 

When vengeance, siaked, 
Is lifted from the heart a moment conies 
When all the world seems horror as the void 
Of darkened space beheld in evil dreams 
Seems anguish evermore. And Amzah stood 
And watched the chieftain dying, and the gloom 
Of night seemed over all, and silently 
The chieftain upward gazed and gave no sign 
Save that of fading breath. Then Amzah thought 
Anew of her whose cloven forehead pressed 
The snows but yesternoon. As he hath slain 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



249 



So let him die, he said, and from the belt 
Where yet her tresses clung, the tomahawk 
He slowly drew and lifted. 

And the dead 
With cloven forehead lay beside his feet, 
Where crimsoned waters flowed. And proud he rose 
As e'er Scheneva by the camp-fire stood, 
And shrilled a war-whoop forth, and to the sound 
A mountain hawk made answer shrill and clear 
And clanging from the sky. 

Then forth he went 
And all unburied in the glen remained 
The chieftain fallen ; and the crows came forth 
From the high hills and from the vale, and there 
Made awesome turmoil, and he watched their flight 
The while he rested on the field were late 
He cleft the woodland growth. 



250 



CHERRY VALLEY. 



The solitude 
Of the deep woods is heahng to the soul, 
For memory softens as the fleet days come 
And fleeting pass away while forest craft 
To action calls the thought. In farther wilds 
Did Amzah wander but returned again 
Full oft to seek the glen, and in the field 
Above its craggy banks full oft he made 
His couch of hemlock boughs. Once, when the 

glow 
Of summer lay upon the land, he came 
In gentle mood unto the olden haunts 
And followed down the stream, and in the foam 
Below the nether fall beheld the wreck — 
Bleached white and glist'ning by the wintry storms — 
Of what was once Scheneva. Loiteringly, 
As one fulfills an idle task, he made 
A shallow grave beside the stream and there 
Gave burial to the foe. 



CHERRY VALLEY. 251 

In after days 
When wearied of the wilding life, the toil 
And journeys of the chase, when in his thought 
The tender memories were like the dream 
Of some far fading time, when to his heart 
New love came softly and abided there. 
His home he builded where in stilly noons 
He of the dell the murm'ring waters heard 
Their plashing and their fall. And on the slopes 
His axe rang in the wintry days and so 
The summer hours beheld the fallows blaze 
And turn to embers all the hoary waste 
The axe had laid upon them. There he dwelt 
And toiled through many a year the while around 
The clearings grew more broad, the grass more green 
And harvest thrift more great, until, one day, 
With stalwart sons beside him, from his couch 
He saw the thin snow falling and the flakes 
Make eddies in the wind ; then seemed to sleep 
And then awoke the while the slender sun 



252 CHERRY VALLEY. 

Brake through the drifting clouds, and slept again 
The while it sank beyond the western hill, 
Nor waked he with the dawn. 

'Tis long ago 
Since o'er the glen the echoes rang and died 
Of Amzah's smiting axe. There when the year 
Awakes from snow-wreaths and the spring has come 
O'er fierce Scheneva's grave the adder-tongue 
Its spotted leaves sends forth and slender spires 
Bear glimmer of the sun. Yea, where he lies. 
The violets come ere yet the mantle melts 
Of rift of ice and snow, and there beneath 
The dwarfed beech the wild arbutus creeps 
With hidden blooms unkenned, and silver there 
The star of Bethlehem its tiny crest 
Uprears to meet the light. 

Above the glen 
Is reach of pleasant fields : the hemlocks rise 
Upon the hills no more ; the pines are gone 



CHERRY VALLEY. 253 



Save one that lingers with wide-spreading arms 
Seared by the lightning stroke, that when the sun 
Sinks broad and red beyond the western height 
Seem blazoned on its front. Meads broad and green 
Are on the upland slopes, and there the grain 
Bends low and floats before the passing breath 
Of south winds softly blown. And in the heat 
That August noontides bring, within the dell 
The kine seek shade and shelter. There the moss 
Gleams in the plash of waters, and their fall 
Frorn rift and rock above soft cadence gives 
To murmurs swxet and low. 

The wilderness 
Hath vanished long, yet from the craggy steeps 
The hemlock's branches clasp the slender birch 
Across the chasm's depth, and gnarled elms 
Throw their dulled shadows where the waters glide. 

Finis. 



